From the Desk
by Zhanael
Summary: Veterinarian Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M., is the only survivor when a CEDA field lab is overrun by the Infected just as winter starts.  To help her survive, she decides to do what no one would dare...tame the zombies.  FINISHED!
1. Introduction

_Author's Notes: Fic for my most recent fandom, Left 4 Dead/2. Enjoy. (Typical disclaimers apply, of course—I don't own L4D/2, that franchise is Valve's.)_

_10 September: I've begun to go through and do a little tweaking. Don't worry, I won't change anything, at least not significantly. But I am adding details and stretching the timeline a bit, to make it a bit more realistic. I'm trying to be thorough, but if you guys feel I missed something or if something feels out of place, lemme know!_

I'd like to begin this journal with an introduction and a history.

My name is Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M. I was born in January of 1967; my parents, both of them flower children, named me for January's birthstone. I admit that I share the garnet's coloring; my hair is a vibrant red, and my eyes a deep red-brown. Before the zombie apocalypse, before the world went to hell, I was a veterinarian. I primarily treated small animals, but I practiced in a small town in western Pennsylvania on the border between rural and suburban, and so other animals of all sizes were brought to me as well. The Humane Society had me on call, and I ran a small rescue out of my rural home.

I was familiar with many sorts of animals and their behaviors; that was why CEDA had called me in for consulting, when the Green Flu was first spreading and the infected individuals were found to behave more like rabid animals than human beings. If we could understand their behaviors, and how their mutations contributed to that behavior, then we could better fight them. We could begin reclaiming our homes, our country—or so the thinking went.

I was assigned to a team of fifteen individuals, five of which being military protection. We were sent to a fortified field lab in eastern Pennsylvania, not far from ground zero. The building was small, with only a mid-sized laboratory (though complete with all that we'd need, including holding cells and cages for test subjects), an attached dormitory where we would live, and a storage house of the same size as the laboratory.

We were the only humans in the area anymore. Our job was to observe the "zombies," as the Infected were called, in an environment devoid of human contact. How did they live in this new world that they created? Did they seek out the basic needs that other living creatures sought, such as food and shelter? Or had the virus destroyed even that?

We learned much in almost a month. As it turns out, the virus is almost unnatural in the way it evolves so quickly. At first, there was but the one strain—that which turned normal, everyday human beings into what we called zombies; almost mindless creatures that wandered aimlessly, or sat or laid down where they stood, or merely stared at a blank wall, until something got their attention. But within nearly two weeks of the virus's first victim, we found evidence of new strains, such as the slimy green bile from what we now call "Boomers." At first, we had wondered as to why these mutations were appearing—but by the end of the month, we had an educated guess.

The virus could not survive without a host, but it also couldn't survive as the common strain, either. Yes, it had enhanced the victims' speed and strength, to an extent; however, in doing so, it had eliminated any desire for sustenance and any sense of self-preservation in the victims. They didn't eat, they didn't sleep, and they didn't drink. The strength and speed required a heightened metabolism, and so they burned out fast, faster than an uninfected person. Eventually, they collapsed, dying where they stood from sleep deprivation, starvation or dehydration. They were bright, hot fires with very little fuel.

So the virus evolved new ways to spread itself, and to strengthen its victims to do so, without destroying their abilities to keep themselves alive. And so came to be what we know as the "Special" Infected, the specialized mutations of the Green Flu virus. Each mutation seemed to be specific to the victim. For example, an obese person may become a Boomer, or an athlete a Hunter. (We determined this by combining samples of the virus, separated from its blood host, with blood samples of various individuals, and then comparing them with samples from the corpses of "Special" Infected that we encountered. Various teams, including my own, used this procedure; our results were consistent with each other.) Many of the mutations seemed to be _too_ specialized to survive on their own without aid. The aforementioned Boomer, for example, was very fragile; if something pierced its massive bulk, it would explode in a shower of bile and gore. More often than not, the "Special" Infected were found in teams, or packs, and would use their abilities in tandem with each other.

We observed these new mutations in the wild, as well, from our laboratory. Mentally, their capacity was only a little better than the common strain. It was more along the lines of hunting animals; predatory intelligence with the ability to adapt to their surroundings, use the environment to their advantage, and to cooperate with each other in the hunt.

The most glaring observation that we made, and that most of the other teams had made, was that these creatures were no longer human. Although they may have _looked_ humanoid, all higher mental capacities were destroyed when the virus took their bodies. Genetically, the zombies, both common and mutated, were the same as any uninfected human being—but they didn't look human and they didn't act human. The virus had turned them into animals, and so they were treated as such.

Eventually, the military took over operations dealing with the Infection. Research teams like my own were, thankfully, allowed to continue while all other surviving humans were pulled back, to leave room for the military to begin bombing. Zones were allotted for research, and barricades were formed. When the bombings began, research zones were excluded. However, while the common Infected had no survival instinct, the Special Infected did. By the end of it, the number of Special Infected in the research zones had doubled.

A few individuals we were told were volunteers were airlifted to us and to other teams for research. They were carriers; immune to the virus' symptoms and mutations, but still able to spread it. This was a mistake, in my team's case; as it turns out, not all of us were immune, though only one of us had what it took to become a Special Infected. She was mutated into a "Spitter," a zombie with an elongated neck that spat and exuded acidic mucus—easy to remove and to move away from, but highly corrosive. I still bear scars of superficial acid burns on my left arm.

My team was overrun after a month on the field after being infected by a few carriers. Only four of us who were still immune had escaped, and there was only one army soldier among us. We civilians received impromptu lessons on how to fire military arms. I was also able to pass on abbreviated lessons in self-defense, augmented by Private Carter's expertise. In all, we were able to survive for just over another month before we encountered a Tank.

Tanks are the largest and strongest of the Infected. Their muscle mass had been increased exponentially, especially in the upper body. With this increase in strength, however, comes a driving bloodlust that causes them to kill anything in their way. Infected or not, if it lays eyes on you, you are likely its next target for destruction, bar none. Such was the case for our little group of four. Though we fled, trying to find somewhere to make a stand, we were overwhelmed.

Only I survived. Fear drove me to run, to flee, while my fellow survivors were annihilated. I hid while they died. The Tank hadn't seen me running, hadn't noticed that I had fled, and so it left me alone after it was finished killing those who had become my friends. Thankfully, I had found someplace that was almost completely safe; I couldn't have lived there, as cramped and dank as it was, but it at least sheltered me in my grief as I sobbed through the night. I knew that there were zombies trying to get to me, but they couldn't reach me, nor could they break open the heavy iron covering. I was safe for the time being, safe to mourn for my fallen comrades, and to wallow in self-hate.

I finally emerged again when I realized I was terribly hungry, and my thirst was even worse. I wasn't quite sure how long I had been in there, but it was long enough for my stomach to cramp painfully. The zombies had gone by then, as well, likely frustrated by so many failed attempts to get at me—a fact which told me that it was the "Special" Infected which had come for me, not any common zombies. In fact, it had been by then that I realized that the number of common Infected had dropped significantly.

Winter had come in full. It was December by the time I was alone. The common strain, it seems, cannot survive in winter at all. Hypothermia had become the leading cause of death, rather than starvation or being killed by one another (did I mention the commons fight amongst themselves?) or by surviving humans. Now it was merely a matter of dodging the Special Infected, which was also an easy enough task in winter. The cold slowed them, making it simpler to avoid them and escape. I made my way back to the laboratory, where we had food, water and other supplies stockpiled for fifteen people for one year. One individual alone could make that stockpile last for several years.

However, when I arrived at the laboratory and cleared it of any remaining zombies—we hadn't had time to seal it when we fled—I found that a majority of the food supplies were devoured or ruined. What was left would only last me through the winter if I rationed it. They didn't touch anything that wasn't food, however, which was a relief; at least there would be heat, and I would be able to remain clean. I salvaged what was good, and destroyed what had been tainted.

One of the first things I discovered, however, was that the radios no longer worked. Rather, they worked, but I received no reply. After several days of failed attempts to reach anyone, I decided that I was on my own. There was no help to be had. I was alone, and it seemed I was going to stay that way. So I settled in at the fortified laboratory for the winter, and even started to continue the research as best as I could.

I came up with an idea during a particularly fierce snowstorm. This idea would likely alienate me from what remained of society. I would be called insane, perhaps even a traitor, if ever I managed to return to it. Perhaps I might be executed; perhaps I may just be imprisoned instead. Yet it was an idea that would help me survive, and…if it became widespread…it would perhaps mean salvation for the human race.

I was going to tame a zombie.

Not one of the common strains, of course. They were too far gone to learn. But the Special Infected were intelligent enough to learn; they could feel pain and hunger. Therefore, they could be trained, if one was willing to through with it, and had some plan for what they were doing. I was willing. I had…some sort of a plan. Fortunately, we had a veritable library on hand, so I had some reference, at least, on which to rely when I was at a loss. If our ancestors could tame wolves, and modern-day Africans could tame hyenas, why couldn't we now tame these new predators?

I have chosen to begin with the Hunter strain; though deadly, Hunters are the closest to animals that an Infected can become, and so they are the easiest for me to understand and therefore to train. They are not so strong that they can break the chains with which the laboratory is equipped, nor are they so oblivious to pain that electric shocks will not work on them. They hunger, and so food can be a reward, even though it means depleting my own supply; if I should succeed in taming them, then perhaps food may not be as much of an issue.

I wish it to be known that I am under no illusion that these creatures are human. Any higher functions have been irrevocably destroyed by the virus. I expect that the most I will receive from them after taming is acceptance as a hunting partner, much like a falconer with her peregrine.

And so I begin this journal. If I should fail, let it be a cautionary tale to any who may wish to follow in my footsteps. If I should succeed, then let it serve for others to improve upon my techniques for the future.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	2. Day 1  Part 1

**24 December 2010**

_10:32_

Today is the day I begin my undertaking. Everything is set; the traps, the cages...I even have some meat—mostly jerky—set aside for use as a reward.

The traps are tripwires that trigger the release of a tranquilizing dart. Each dart contains enough sedatives to knock out an elephant; I know by experience that the virus can neutralize a sedative very quickly. The amount I use will keep the Hunter unconscious long enough for me to bring it back to the laboratory and put it on its chain, then get out again before it wakes up and mauls me.

The chains in the cages are thick and heavy, but insulated from electricity. They terminate in a conductive collar that can discharge a shock equivalent to a police taser. For a real animal, I wouldn't use such collars; I find them to be cruel. However, I don't believe that _any_ Infected, let alone a Hunter, would respond to other, more peaceful methods. They don't seem to feel pain as we do, save perhaps the most excruciating. Even setting themselves on fire doesn't bother them too much. I'm not sure if the shock collars will even be enough, but I have nothing else.

My team had divided the city into sectors while they were alive; the laboratory and a two-block radius around it is the home sector. I had laid my traps in only that sector. Right now, the only Infected I've been able to observe here are two Hunters, a Smoker, and a Witch that wanders in and out of the sector on the northwest border—I call these four the Home Sector Pack. Others pass through, but these four are the constants; likely, my home sector is a part of their hunting territory.

I know that the Witch is in the other sector until tomorrow; her wanderings take her in a sort of figure-eight pattern where she spends a few nights in one sector, and another few in the other. Today, and the last three days, she's been in the other sector, so I'm not worried about her. The same can't be said about the Smoker, but with luck, he'll be hunting on entirely the opposite side of the sector from my position.

Except for the hand I'm using to write, I'm currently bundled up in several layers of winter clothing, a la _A Christmas Story_. I will be bait for the tripwires. That way, if the tripwires should fail, I'll have some sort of protection while I try to defend myself. Hunter claws aren't long enough to get through all this in one go; I'll have time to grab a weapon while it's trying to get to my flesh. Even if the Smoker _does_ show up, however, this bundle of cloth is thick enough that I'll still be able to breathe if he catches me with his tongue.

I'll have only one shot, in truth; I don't have enough clothes for a second attempt, if the Hunter or whatever doesn't kill me first. I'll be bringing my shotgun with me, and my pistol.

There is no one to wish me luck, but I'll ask for it anyway. If there's some sort of higher power out there, now would be the time to start asking for help from it.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	3. Day 1  Part 2

**24 December 2010**

_14:51_

I've done it. I've captured a Hunter.

It was entirely luck. That is the only way I can explain it. The odds had been against me, yet I pulled through, and as a result, there is now a Hunter chained in a cage.

Let me start from the beginning, then.

I left the laboratory at 10:43, eleven minutes after finishing my first entry. (It took me that long to finish my preparations.) I was in place at the center of a quadrant of tripwires at around 10:51. After that it was a lot of waiting.

I hummed to myself, spoke with myself. I made noise, because I wanted them to notice me. My efforts bore fruit after nearly five hours.

I heard the Hunter drop into the alley behind me. One of my more obvious tripwires was there—but apparently not obvious enough for the Hunter to see, I thought at the time. It let out a growl, and I turned around to face it. I saw it creep forward, saw it crouch. Its left foot was just a scant few centimeters from the wire. When it let out a screech, I knew it was about to leap; I prepared to move.

When it pounced at me, its foot hit the wire—but the tranq dart hit the snow where the Hunter _had been_, and not the Hunter. When it pounced, I threw myself forward, and rolled like Private Carter had taught us, back when he was alive. I found myself next to the dart—it still had its payload, miraculously. The Hunter had hit where I was, and had turned to try again; this time, instead of dodging, I grabbed the dart and thrust it at the Hunter as it hit me. I landed hard, it landed on top of me. I felt the needle of the dart sink into its flesh, injecting the chemicals—

-and when I looked down, and the Hunter was out like a light, collapsed on top of me.

That wasn't the half of it, however. I had just pushed myself out from under the Hunter when I heard another scream that was distinctive to the strain—but slightly higher in pitch. The second Hunter was here, too. Not wanting to take chances, I quickly heaved the unconscious Hunter onto my back and started to run.

It is not an easy task to run for your life while carrying what equates to a 170-pound sack of potatoes.

The second Hunter managed to pounce me, and almost crush me under the combined weight of both Infected. But instead of attempting to kill me, at least for the time being, the second Hunter gripped the back of the first one's neck with its teeth, and its arm around the first one's chest, starting to try to pull it away from me.

It was almost as though it was trying to rescue its kin.

But it still freed me, and I brought up my pistol, firing at the ground near the second Hunter's foot. It yelped, released my prize, and leapt away—its survival instincts seemed stronger than...whatever it had been trying to do. I fired another few times to keep it away, tried not to flinch when it screamed at me again, took the unconscious Hunter onto my back again, and started to run again. This time, though the second Hunter followed, it didn't make a second attempt to free its kin. I made it back to the laboratory, and closed the heavy door behind me.

I was safe, and I had a Hunter.

I had enough time to unbundle myself before it was imperative that I chain the Hunter before it awoke. The second one was having a fit outside, but I ignored it as I emerged from my cloth cocoon. I ignored it even as I dragged the unconscious Infected into the cage and hooked the collar around its neck.

As I was working, its hood fell off. The first thing I noticed was that it was male—its jawline, although covered in blood and dirt, was also tinted with a five o'clock shadow. The second thing I noticed was why the Hunter didn't see my obvious tripwire; it had no eyes with which to see at all. This was an interesting development; I had to rely on delivering my commands by voice and touch rather than visually. It also made me wonder if this was another effect the virus had on its victims, or if this was unique to just this individual.

The Hunter was stirring, and so I beat a hasty retreat after I made sure the collar was secure. I slammed the cage door shut and locked it just as it growled and rolled to all fours. It could sense me-likely hear my heavy breathing and smell me close by. It lunged-but the chain wasn't long enough to reach the cage door, and so it was yanked back. It yelped, fell back, and started clawing at the chain. When that wouldn't give way, it lunged again—only to be yanked back again. After a few more tries of this, it finally settled on its haunches, its blind face turned to me, and snarled.

I left it alone after that, and began to write this.

I am, to say the least, absolutely stunned. I didn't not expect to get this far, despite my plans and preparations. I am just one woman against hundreds of mutant creatures. I am not a fighter, I am a veterinarian. I should not be alive when others stronger than I am are dead. I should not have been able to capture one of those mutant creatures, survive the attempts of a second one to free it, and put it in a cage where it's now growling and shrieking at me like the wild animal the virus turned it into.

To whatever is listening, to whatever is watching over me...thank you. I will continue on into insanity, and see if my efforts can save me after all.

Merry Christmas.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	4. Day 2

**25 December 2010**

_02:33_

If Hunters sleep, I wouldn't know about it, apparently. This one certainly isn't.

The first time he woke me was at around midnight. He was calling to his kin, the one that tried to rescue it yesterday. That one was outside, of course, but apparently not far from the door. They were almost definitely communicating with each other—there was a call, and there was an answer. This phenomenon would have been more fascinating if it wasn't literally the _middle of the night_.

I used this opportunity to test the shock collar. Each time my captive Hunter would start to call, I administered a shock. It stings, but it doesn't knock the Hunter out—as I had thought. Apparently it stings a lot, however, because it only took four shocks for the Hunter to figure out that he needed to stay silent or get hurt. After about fifteen minutes of silence, I tossed a slice of jerky at the Hunter through a slot in the cage door meant for that purpose. He seemed quite grateful for the jerky, and devoured it within moments before settling down...and still staying quiet.

I only wish I could have done the same for the Hunter outside. But despite the second Hunter's rather pathetic cries, I went back to sleep.

Unfortunately, I was woken a second time not an hour later. This time, it was from a certain stench emanating from the Hunter's cage, and his annoyed growls.

Zombies do, in fact, expel waste matter as other living creatures do. This isn't something the virus messed around with, evidently. However, the virus _had_ taken away their fine motor skills, and so they are unable to manage the complicated processes of _removing their pants_ to defecate or urinate. My captive Hunter had, in colloquial terms, shat his pants, and he was unhappy about it.

I realized that I would need to clean the Hunter myself. This was not an appealing prospect, I assure you. But I equated it in my mind to cleaning up after the animals I had once treated; neither they nor this Hunter could have helped themselves. It was up to me to keep him healthy, if I wanted to tame him. And besides, it would give me an opportunity no other human being could—it would give me the chance to study Hunter physiology.

And so I made my first and only attempt while the Hunter was conscious. But as soon as the cage door opened, the Hunter lunged at me again, apparently ignoring his earlier lessons in futility in favor of the chance to maul me. I realized that I wouldn't be able to survive getting near him while he was conscious. He would realize he couldn't get to me at the end of the chain, but as soon as I was in range...I wouldn't be alive long enough to shock him down.

So I filled another dart with sedatives, the same amount I used before. I loaded it into a small rifle that I had no idea if it was the right weapon or not, and fired at the Hunter. The rifle didn't blow up in my face, and the dart hit, so the Hunter went down, collapsing face-forward onto the floor. And then I went to work.

I unhooked the Hunter from his chain first, before stripping off his maroon hooded sweatshirt. His entire upper torso was spotted with warts and boils, and the color of his skin was a deathly gray, but his muscle structure was comparable to an athlete's. His hair was shoulder-length, tied with a frayed elastic band—likely from before Infection—absolutely filthy, and the color of muddy straw. That hair might have been thick once, and beautiful; but between his filth and the Infection itself, it was falling out.

An interesting thing to note: The virus destroys not only a Hunter's eyes, but its eye_lids_ as well. This one's empty sockets stared at me even though I knew he was unconscious.

Once the sweatshirt was off, I replaced the collar, just to give me a chance in case he woke while I was still working. Then I went to work on his lower half. I began with his shoes, tugging them off without bothering to untie them. I found that Hunters bear claws on their toes as well, although these were misshapen due to their growth inside the shoes. The putrid socks went next, tossed onto the sweatshirt. Finally, all that was left were his pants and underwear.

I have to say that this was the hardest part, and not just because he had defecated in his clothing. Intellectually, I knew that this was a wild, rabid creature. But intellect and instinct are not often in tune, and instinctively, I still felt that this thing was human, to an extent. After all, he still _looked_ mostly human. So when I finally broke through the rusted zipper on his fly, and wrestled the filthy garment and undergarments off of him, I froze.

I am not a very intimate person. The partners I had had earlier in life, both male and female, were few and far between. I had never married, either, and any dates I've had never really lasted beyond the first outing. Much of my reluctance has stemmed my asexuality—I've never really had an interest in sex, and in fact, I found the idea (pertaining to _me_, anyway) disgusting. It was that disgust that stalled me; I had to _touch_ him there, where I'd never truly touched anyone.

I knew I had to clean him myself, however. So I swallowed my disgust (and the bile that had been rising) and retrieved the bucket of soap and water I'd prepared after I realized what I had to do. As I worked, I made a few more observations, if only to keep myself from freezing again: A Hunter's legs are powerful, despite being just as blighted as the rest of their body. The virus has turned them into the perfect high-vaulters—and runners. I wouldn't be surprised if they could rival several animal species, such as cheetahs, in speed.

I finished just as he began to stir. I tossed the rags into the bucket, quickly gathered the soiled clothing under my arm and rushed out of range of the chain. The Hunter's head snapped up, and he snarled, rolling onto all fours. But I slammed the cage door shut just before he moved to launch himself at me, and he let out a shriek of what I could only guess was frustration.

He seemed to notice right away that he was nude. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but I thought he might not have reacted, like sheep when they're sheered. His hands pawed at his body, almost _exploring_ it for the first time. Maybe it was, since he was Infected; after all, he wasn't able to remove his clothing after turning into this creature. He made a few noises of distress-part whimper, part growl. Then he started to sniff around like a dog, finding the trail of his scent to lead in my direction. He didn't lunge, but he did strain against his chain a little, taking swipes at me.

But I ignored him—or tried to, anyway—and headed for the laundry room. He shrieked after me a few times, but eventually settled, and I got to work on trying to salvage his clothing...if I could. I'd gotten his filth all over me, which meant a shower after I was done here, but I didn't mind that so much. I tossed the sweatshirt in first, and searched the pants' pockets to empty them.

I found what had once been the Hunter's wallet. When I opened it, I found his driver's license. _Christopher Nathaniel Sommers_ had been his name; he had been six feet and two inches tall, and had weighed 172 pounds. He was young, too, only in his early twenties. He had lived within this vicinity, only three blocks away in what I assumed to be an apartment building. And he had been attractive to my tastes, if perhaps a tad effeminate. His hair had been a lovely shade of yellow gold, and his lost eyes had been an unusual violet. He was clean-shaven in his license photo, and wearing a red tank top that showed that the virus hadn't done much at all to enhance his upper torso and arms. His hair had been just as long, though, and kept in the same ponytail.

Behind his license, Christopher had kept a photo of himself—and his identical female twin. They were both perched on top of the brick and wrought-iron fence that lined the city's historical courthouse, grinning happily. They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders, and were wearing the same outfits; the only way I could tell Christopher's twin was female was her larger chest. There was writing on the back of the photo: _Chris & Lexi - August 2008_.

I realized then that the Hunter outside that had tried to rescue my captive was this girl, this Lexi.

Special Infected could feel emotions, apparently. Or at least, instinct led them to protect kin.

They truly _were_ wild animals—wild, carnivorous, _cannibalistic_ animals, but animals nonetheless.

I finally put in the pants as well as my pajamas that I had been wearing and set the washer to run while I took a shower. Then I sat down to write this.

I don't know what to think about these Infected. They're not zombies—all right, maybe what remains of the commons are, but not the Special Infected. Those aren't mindless. They think in a _very_ limited capacity, they adapt to their surroundings, they're capable of learning...and now, perhaps, they even feel some limited emotions.

I want to study these Hunter twins together. I will make an effort to capture Lexi. Perhaps having them together will make them easier to tame.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	5. Day 8

**31 December 2010**

_16:22_

I cannot express how amazed I am.

I managed to capture the second Hunter, Lexi after almost a week. She was still prowling the vicinity when I left the lab at around 10:00 on Tuesday (I had been snowed in by a rather fierce storm until then). But she was easier to capture than her brother in that I only needed to walk a block before I heard her on the roof above and slightly behind me. I turned around, took just a moment to aim, and shot her just as she leapt at me. The dart hit her in the throat (even though I'd been aiming for her chest) and she landed right on me, unconscious. The impact dazed me, but at least it didn't kill her.

I hauled her back to the lab, and as soon as Chris caught her scent, he started shrieking frantically and swiping in my direction. I took a few moments to shock him down; this time, it only took three shocks to get him to settle. Then I stripped Lexi down—I did _not_ want a repeat of Friday morning—and put her collar on. I did, however, position her as close to Chris as I could, just to gauge his reaction.

It was not what I'd expected. I mean, I suppose I didn't know what I expected, but this certainly wasn't it.

As soon as he sensed she was near, he strained against his chain. When he'd reached its limit, he reached out—he could just barely touch her hand with his fingers, and not just his claws. Reassured that she was there, and alive, he settled himself down with one arm tucked under his chest—much like a giant, hairless cat—and waited for her to wake while making soft rumbling noises.

I waited, too. I wanted to know how she would react once she woke, and how they would interact after being separated for almost a week, even in captivity. While I waited, though, I compared the two Hunters' physiology, trying to determine any differences.

Lexi was slightly larger than her brother. This was a viral mutation, I found, because from the photo I'd found in Chris' wallet, they had been the same size. She was also slightly better muscled, and her foreclaws were longer. (Her hindclaws were as misshapen as her brother's, for the same reason. Perhaps if I cut them, they'll regrow in proper shape.) She was, however, just as blighted as her brother, which told me that the warts and boils were the host body's reaction to the virus, with no real evolutionary purpose—at least, no purpose for the _virus'_ evolution. Neither of them had eyes, either, which also told me that it was the virus that had dissolved them.

Lexi finally woke after another hour. Her head snapped up, and she snarled, jumping onto all fours and whipping her head around as though looking—though I could see her nostrils flared with each breath she took. Then she realized she was without her "fur," and started pawing at herself as her brother had last night. But Chris was up with her and he...well, _barked_ at her is the only way I can put it. I don't think I can describe the sound he made any better than that. At any rate, it got her attention, and what happened afterward is what made me realize these creatures, while not human, weren't the mindless zombies other people thought of them as—just as I had said before.

Both Hunters strained at their chains while reaching out to each other. When they realized they couldn't reach each other except by loosely entwining their hands through the bars, they settled on the floor, holding hands and making the same rumbling noises Chris had before. I realized then that those noises were their version of _purring._ They had been scared, frightened, and were now reassuring themselves and each other—like cats.

I wish I knew if this was typical Hunter behavior, or if this was only unique to these twins.

I spent the rest of the day rearranging a third cell so that there were two—longer—chains inside and moving them into it. As soon as they were awake from the tranqs and aware that they now shared the same space, they entwined themselves around each other and settled on the floor with Chris's head on top of Lexi's, purring again. They were a pair of mid-sized, hairless, tailless, eyeless pack-hunting cats, it seemed to me.

What really amazed me was that they barely noticed I was here. Likely, once they were accustomed to being locked in a cage together, they'd be back to trying to maul me...but for the time being, I could get close-if I wanted to risk it.

On another note, I've worked out a feeding schedule for them. I had put food dispensers in these cells, so I can safely feed them without getting too close. They will have three meals a day. Breakfast is with me; lunch at 13:00; and supper at 17:00. This schedule begins tomorrow; I hypothesize that it will only take them three days total to become accustomed to it. These creatures are smarter than I'd initially thought, it seems.

They do, after all, feel emotion.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	6. Day 14

**06 January 2010**

_18:33_

If one thing can be said about the past several days, it is that taming and training Hunters is a very difficult task. It is one in which you risk both life and limb for what may be impossible. I have learned this the very hard way—I write this with my left hand, as my right is badly mauled; it'll recover, but it will take a very long time to do so. But I will not give up; I cannot, in order to survive.

On Friday, I had begun the twins' training regimen. The first thing I had done after waking at around 09:30 was give them food. Jerky, but much of it—that was about all I had in the way of meat. They seemed confused about its appearance at first, sniffing around the dispenser and rattling it a little. But they devoured the jerky readily, and even tried to get more by clawing and shrieking at it. They settled in a small pile of Hunter after deciding nothing more was forthcoming.

After sedating them, giving them adult-sized diapers and dressing them in their "furs" again (I'd washed both of their outfits several times to make sure they were thoroughly clean), I left them to recover while I got dressed and fed myself as well. But I almost immediately returned when I was done, opened the cage door and stepped a little inside, just outside the range of the chains. Almost immediately, they were on all fours again, crouched and ready to pounce. At any sign of movement in my direction, I shocked them.

It took them until Sunday to learn not to try to pounce on me. Every hour I worked with them, I was moving further into the cage, letting them get used to my presence inside. They didn't learn this lesson as quickly as Chris had others, however; the instinct to kill unInfected ran too deeply for it to be beaten so easily.

Meals were amusing affairs for the first day or two. They were confused when the jerky appeared while I was working with them, constantly turning their heads between me and the food, as though deciding which to consume. Every time, though, they took the jerky. I was, in fact, able to get close after they were fed and were curled up together. I never dared try to touch them—that was for Monday—but I at least sat close while they growled at me and batted at each other.

On the second night, I continued the lesson for only another two hours after supper; I was tired, after all. The twins "watched" me for another ten minutes even after I shut the cage door, keeping their heads turned in my direction, following my movements. But after they determined that I wasn't going to do anything more with them, they then turned their attention to each other.

To my surprise, Chris lunged toward Lexi, pouncing and pinning her, biting her on the neck. Now, at that point, I was worried that in lieu of not being able to maul me after so long in my presence that the virus was turning them on each other. But Lexi kicked him off easily and returned the gesture, and they started wrestling and pouncing and swiping—but leaving no marks, no wounds.

They were _playing_.

This was yet another stunning revelation. The twins were actually _playing_ with each other. I hadn't thought that zombies—Infected—were capable of it, despite my discovery of their emotion. But I was proven wrong yet again. What made it even worse (or is that "better"?) were the sounds they were making; it might have been described as laughter in between the yelps and…_light-hearted growls_.

That they were able to enjoy themselves and entertain themselves made me wonder. Had they already adjusted to captivity? Or was this some way of coping, of reassuring each other in light of their fear of captivity? My suspicion was the latter, but many of my guesses thus far had been wrong.

After breakfast on Monday, I came into the cage again, carrying a long pole with a faux hand attached to the end of it, made of imitation flesh. I had wrapped some spare clothing around the base of the "hand," to give it my scent. Before the Infection, I had used this tool often with the rescued animals I treated, to make sure they were properly socialized (if they were pets). Now, I was going to use it to train the twins.

During the first half of the day, I reinforced the lesson of not pouncing me. Thankfully, that time around I didn't need to shock them as much; the lesson was learnt, and it was just a matter of enough reinforcement to defeat instinct. But immediately after lunch, as the twins lay curled together again (this seemed their habit to relax while digesting), I reached over with the hand-tool.

This got their attention immediately. Chris's head snapped up and he swiped at the "hand". I withdrew the tool before his swipe could connect, and shocked him. Lexi snapped at it when I reached with it a second time; I shocked her, too. I continued to reach with the tool, to let it touch them, while I taught them not to retaliate to it.

This took the rest of Monday, yesterday and today to learn. I would touch them at random, making sure never to seem very consistent. That way, they wouldn't hold off on retaliating at one time, but snap at others. Unfortunately, this lesson was learnt about as quickly as defeating the pouncing instinct-that is to say, not at all—but it was learnt, at least. As with the pouncing, reinforcement would be required.

Now, I had been wondering by now why they weren't being desensitized to the shocks. The electricity would still course through them, of course, but the pain of it would dull the more they were exposed to it, I thought. It wasn't dulling, however, as near as I could tell; the twins continued to have the same pained reactions to the shocks as they had in the beginning. I wondered if it was because the electricity was conducted through them, as opposed to, say, fire, which their kin seemed to ignore.

That's a mystery I doubt I'll ever be able to solve on my own, however. Especially since testing…would likely require actions that…would be especially dangerous.

After lunch yesterday, however, I decided to do away with the tool. They weren't responding to it any longer, so I decided to test with my own hand in place of it. Amazingly, the twins didn't react to me being so close in order to touch them. My lessons were, in fact, beginning to stick.

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of trying to touch them while they were playing after supper that night. As my fingers brushed Chris's sleeve as he wrestled with Lexi, he spun around and clamped his jaws onto my hand. He tasted my blood, and he bit down even harder, starting to jerk his head. This had the effect of tearing apart my muscles. I could only start punishing him when I recovered from my own shock, and by then the damage was done.

Despite the blood-scent in their noses and the liquid in his mouth, neither of them actually went for the kill. Chris released my hand when he was shocked twice, allowing me to escape and try to salvage what I could. Both of the twins were frozen in a crouched position, probably still smelling (and tasting) my injury, but trying to fight the instinct to finish me off. My lessons were sticking after all.

I would have been happier to realize that if I hadn't been in so much pain.

Allow me to say that performing surgery on oneself is _not_ easy. Especially when it's a delicate hand surgery to salvage what I could, using my off-hand. I managed—barely—but it was a painstaking (and pain_ful_) several hours that I worked to reset bones, try to rework muscle, and stitch the wound together. Alone.

Despite my injury, however, I went right back to the twins' training today. Unfortunately for them, breakfast had been lunch because I was so exhausted from working on myself so late last night. But I took my breakfast with them, and I even used my injured hand to touch them again—thankfully, this time, despite the fact that they could certainly smell my blood, no other incidents happened. I rarely even needed to shock them today.

The twins had finally accepted my presence and my touch.

I will admit that I wonder at the speed at which these lessons sunk in, _especially_ after they injured me. That taste of blood should have set _back_ their progress, not furthered it. But it's obvious to me that they have indeed already accepted their captivity, and now they've accepted me as part of that captivity. Is it because they've figured out that they cannot starve here, that they have shelter here?

Or is it something more?

I don't know. Further observation is required. But at this rate, I will begin teaching them basic commands within the next few days.

We'll see how _that_ goes.

And finally: Happy New Year.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	7. Day 19

**11 January 2010**

_00:53_

I wish I could say that I've learned a lot about Hunters within the past several days, but it would be a half-truth. I have said it before, and I will say it again: They are most like blind, mostly hairless hunting cats that can sometimes walk on two legs. I wish I knew whether or not this was learned behavior, or some instinctual behavior from the virus. If it was learned, where did they learn it? Not every individual Hunter could have been familiar with cats or wolves. But if it was passed from the virus...where did the virus get that behavior?

At any rate, given half the chance, the twins will clean themselves with their tongues—like cats—and twist themselves into seemingly impossible positions to accomplish this. Also like (most) felines, they aren't very fond of water. (I learned this on Thursday when I accidentally spilled some on Lexi; she yelped and jumped clear across the cage when she felt it hit her.) They stalk and pounce on their prey, mauling it and sometimes even begin feeding while it's dying. That hunting behavior translates into play, pouncing on each other and wrestling with teeth and claws.

Before my research team was wiped out, we made other observations about Hunters. When in a pack, they display more canine behavior; pack structure, we found, is very similar to a wolf pack. There is an alpha, though the gender of that alpha doesn't seem to matter—both male and female (that we could tell were female, anyway) are equally likely to take over leadership. There is also a second to that alpha; we assumed this to be the mate, but we were also unsure as to whether or not zombies _need_ to mate—and besides, sometimes there's more than one second. Pack hunting is also very canine, even when the pack is of mixed Special Infected types; though they stalk and pounce, they will "herd" their prey to a more favorable position (for the Infected), and try to separate a group into a more manageable size.

None of that has yet applied to the twins, however; two individuals do not a pack make.

Of course, all of these observations have made going through with my experiment much, much easier. Familiar behavioral patterns make for simpler training. The twins hadn't quite accepted me as "pack," but I also had yet to assert dominance over them until Saturday; once I did, the twins accepted me and will begin to obey when I begin teaching commands. Before Saturday, I was "not food;" to be tolerated and not eaten, but also not a zombie, and therefore not worth any sort of attention unless I became hostile.

Thursday and Friday were spent furthering the twins' acceptance of my presence. I took my meals with them, though I didn't eat any better than they did. I had the brilliant idea of giving them toys, as well; a few baseballs are now strewn around the cage, and they _adore_ them. I tried to make a dangling toy for them; it was a juice box partially filled with dried beans wrapped in cloth, with a few faux-feathers glued to it, and it was strung from the top of the cage. However, they had torn it apart within an hour or so, and batted at what was left of the string afterwards.

I swear I have a pair of kittens, not zombies who used to be human.

Until Saturday, I didn't do anything more beyond sedating them (sans rifle, now, by the way) to bathe them. They had woken up afterwards, dazed and confused as to why they smelled like soap all of a sudden. But at least they look somewhat healthier—they're certainly cleaner, and they keep themselves that way. I also change their diapers without sedating them; they've seemed to figure out what those pieces are for, and once they realized I'm not removing their "fur" entirely, they don't protest when I have to change them.

On Saturday, however, I began to assert my dominance in the same way I might do so for a canine. I stood above them when they were in more vulnerable positions (they couldn't see me, obviously, but they could sense my presence nonetheless), and I held their heads and growled. They fought me, of course; surprisingly, Lexi even attempted to do the same to me, as though she were the alpha of the pair. I was forced to shock her down—she wasn't going to kill me, she'd learned that was a bad idea, but she also wasn't going to let me up until I submitted.

At that point, I started associating the word "no" with the shock; when they make this association, they'll still associate the word (spoken in the way I was speaking it, anyway) with the pain, even when the pain itself is removed. In other words, every time they were doing something I didn't want them to do, I'd simultaneously shock them and call out "no"—just the way that I would if they were dogs. Stopping Lexi from dominating me was the first time I began this.

By dinnertime that night, I was rewarding them for letting me hold their heads and growl for a certain length of time—and therefore, rewarding them for submission. I'll need to continue that, however, for a little while; just to let it sink in that I'm their alpha. But after that, I'll begin with simple commands such as "sit" or "stay." As I do so, I'll be researching how to train hunting dogs.

I will say that I'm very pleased with my progress. It's only been a few weeks since I captured them, and already they're mostly tamed. I have an idea as to why they were so easy, as compared to, say, a wild Bengal tiger in the same situation. Yes, I know I shouldn't use this journal for speculation, but where else do I have to put it?

I believe that my twins were so easy to tame because they _wanted_ to be tamed.

While the virus _does_ damage the victim's brain, I believe that the amount of damage varies. Certainly a lot of the higher functions are annihilated, as are their memories of life as a human (though amazingly enough, some Specials' memory spans are almost equal to our own). Yet I believe that not _all_ of their memories are destroyed. It isn't conscious—I doubt they can recall images and words, or if they can, those images and words are very faint. But it is familiarity derived from their subconscious that drives them to establish their territory in a certain place, for example.

In my twins' case, I believe they had retained enough subconscious memory to still crave human contact, despite being unable to resist the instinct to kill without help. Once that instinct was defeated, the conflicting instinct to seek out humanity took over, allowing them to accept my presence, touch, and now my dominance. They can never _be_ human again; even if a cure to destroy the virus is made, the damage has been done, and their minds and bodies are too far gone—and such is the case for _any_ Infected, not just Chris and Lexi. But like a domestic dog, my twins want to be around humans under whatever circumstances, even if they don't understand why.

Now, let me say this: _This is not the case for all Infected_. In fact, I believe my twins are exceptions to the rule. I believe that once the instinct to kill or turn unInfected is satisfied, a zombie will start to avoid them just as any other wild animal. In fact, although most of the Infected populations were centered in cities, CEDA had begun to see those populations _decreasing_, and the number in rural and wilderness areas _increasing_. I'm unsure of the exact numbers now, having been cut off from the rest of the world, but I believe that, between winter's onset and a lack of their primary prey, the zombies' population numbers have reversed; there are now double the number of rural and wild Infected than there are those like my twins, who remain in cities and other (formerly) human-populated areas.

This of course means that my chances of being able to tame any other species of Infected are next to nothing. But then again, that was what I'd estimated to begin with, and now I have a pair of Hunters waiting to be trained to commands. We'll just have to wait and see.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	8. Day 26

**18 January 2010**

_17:30_

I really must admit that having the twins tamed is such a joy for me. Now that they're not trying to kill me, and have accepted me as pack (for the most part), I'm enjoying myself watching them while they play and nap and just generally be…well, Hunters.

Before this mad project of mine, I had feared the Hunter strain the most—aside from the Tank strain, at any rate. They are deadly, efficient killers, called Hunters for a reason. They're absolutely silent until the very last minute, when they've caught up to their prey and there's no escape for it. The virus had given them a greater speed and strength than the unInfected, and they're relentless in the hunt, never stopping until their prey is dead…or they are.

I've discovered their strain to be the least specialized, the most adaptable, and the most survivable. The virus has achieved evolutionary near-perfection with the Hunters. They are smart (for Infected, anyway), and they're self-sufficient, able to survive alone without the aid of other Infected. (Only three other Special strains can be deemed as self-sufficient: Tanks, for their sheer size and strength; Chargers, for their speed and the use of their massive arm; and Witches, for their deceptive appearances and wanderings.) About their only flaw might be their sight…but I don't think that's a handicap, either.

These days, though, I'm very fond of Hunters in general, thanks to my twins. (That's not to say, however, that I won't defend myself if attacked by other Hunters when I can finally get out hunting with the twins.) They're very curious, investigating each new scent and sound. They love to play, constantly pouncing on each other and wrestling, or chasing each other around the cage. They're also rather fond of puzzles-perhaps more so than most other animals because of their lack of sight.

I once wrapped a squeaking dog toy I found a few months ago, one of the twins' favorite playthings after I gave it to them, into a blanket; the challenge was to get it out. They figured it out, but demanded that I do it again by trying to push the toy under the blanket and barking at me. (I say "barking," but it's really just this harsh, throaty sound cut short by snapping their jaws together. Lexi's is higher pitched than Chris's, which means they use their vocal cords to make the sound.) They haven't yet gotten tired of that game.

They also play fetch, amusingly enough, like most dogs and some cats. The only difference is _how_ they fetch. They can't see me throw the ball or toy, but I'm sure they hear it sailing through the air and then hear it land. They chase only after it lands, and pounce it when they finally sniff it out. Then they bring it to me—though it's usually a battle to decide who actually brings it back.

I took them off their chains on Tuesday, though I haven't let them out of the cage yet. I'm not yet confident that they're so tamed that they won't wreak havoc on the lab if I let them out. I welded batteries onto another pair of collars without the chains, and made a remote control for those collars that lets me shock them when I need to. So they're at least free to run around their cage and play whenever I'm not working with them, and that's perfectly fine with me.

I learned that they still knew their names. I sometimes mutter to myself about something I'm working on, or read aloud to myself, being alone and wanting for human contact, just to hear a human voice. I said Lexi's name, and she squawked at me in response, even though I'd never mentioned it before. I tried her name a few more times, and each time she responded-each time a little more impatient, as though demanding to know why I was calling her. ("What?" "_What?_" "_What do you want?_") I tried the same with Chris, and he responded as well, though with more patience than his sister.

I began actually teaching commands on Wednesday. I began with "sit," which was extremely simple. I put them on their haunches; their rears touched the ground, but they were still on all fours with their legs under them. Each time I did that, I said the word "sit," so that they associated the word with the position. They learned that one by lunchtime, and it actually stuck easier than any other lesson I'd taught them. At first, I had thought that they were finally completely under my control, and that I'd be able to teach them other commands just as easily. I was wrong, but perhaps not as wrong as one might expect.

"Stay" was the next command, and the second hardest to teach. It wasn't until lunchtime Thursday that I managed to succeed in getting them to sit in one place while I took their delectable food farther and farther away. They even learned not to whine while sitting there. But once it was finally learned, it stuck, too, just as "sit" had. After "stay" was "come," and that one was almost as simple as "sit." By Thursday's supper, they had learned to obey three basic commands.

After lunch on Friday, I started taking them out of their cage on chain leads (chain, because nothing else would stand up to their gnawing) and walked them around the lab. At first I let them explore, satisfy their curiosity; they got into everything, of course, and I let them. The only place I didn't let them into was the storage room and the kitchen, where the food was. They could smell it all, though, even though both rooms were tight shut.

Even as they were exploring, though, I taught them to heel. This was terribly difficult, the most difficult of the commands, because they wanted to sniff out every little secret, and resolve every little puzzle. I didn't use the shock collars, but I did actually yank at the chains, as I would a dog. It didn't hurt them, but it did annoy them. So they figured out eventually that they could avoid these annoyances if they just came to my feet when I called.

The past three days consisted of training the twins for hunting. I had been doing a bit of research on training hunting dogs; I found that most of my work was already done. They knew the environment, perhaps better than I did; they were used to the climate. Their overabundance of energy kept them fit, and also bespoke a very high metabolism that would burn off most of the fat, leaving only what was needed—side effects of the Infection, I suspect. All I really needed to do was train them to specific commands, which didn't seem all that hard.

It wasn't difficult at all. I taught them a whistle that would stop them in the chase, and another, different whistle that brings them back to me. I also taught them verbal commands—"down," for instance, meant for them to drop to the ground and not move. This, I was assured by my research, was for their safety and others'—if they were caught in a fence, for instance, and would more harm than good by wriggling around trying to free themselves. Their favorite, which made them show explicit glee, was "hunt." See, I was no hunter, before or after the Infection; I didn't know the first thing about tracking. So they had to do it for me, and that was what they were (literally) made to do.

The twins learned these commands faster than any dog, of course. But is it because they're that smart, or is it because of my earlier speculations—that they still subconsciously retained some memories of their human lives? Had they, before the Infection, done with a pet what I do with them now? Or does the urge for human contact extend so deep that they also desire approval, which they seem to think comes only through obedience?

Before sitting down to write this, I had decided to satisfy a bit of my own curiosity. A human's primary sense is sight; even our very language seemed to center around how something or someone looks. But a Hunter has no eyes—so what is _their_ primary sense? To figure it out, I sedated Lexi (she seemed to be a bit more feral than Chris, and had taken longer to learn commands than he had) and performed a CAT scan before returning her to the cage (in which they still sleep, despite the door being wide open).

My answer was actually fairly simple: _Scent_ is their primary hunting tool. Their olfactory system is magnificent compared to an unInfected's; between their noses' altered shapes (compared to the picture I found in Chris's wallet, my twins' noses are larger and more beak-like than they were before Infection) and the size of their olfactory glands I suspect that they're on par with bloodhounds. Their hearing is second-best, again on par with hunting dogs.

In fact, there is much in common between Hunters and bloodhounds. A bloodhound is built for sniffing; his nose is long and wide, maximizing the air that filters through it, and the olfactory center in his brain is huge; his wrinkly skin and floppy ears gather and focus air particles to that powerful nose. A Hunter's sense of smell is just as keen, and I suspect that, since they all keep their hoods up, their clothing acts as a bloodhound's wrinkles. That might have been why both Chris and Lexi were so distressed when they found themselves unclothed—they wouldn't have been as efficient in the hunt, if they had actually been free.

Tomorrow is my fourty-third birthday. What a better birthday present to myself than to see whether or not these past several weeks have been successful? What better day for the first hunt with the Hunters? I'm looking forward to it, to be sure.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	9. Day 27

_Author's Note: Goodness, you folks are fantastic! Thank you all so very much for your support and tips; you're going to make my head swell if you keep this up! XD I greatly appreciate all reviews, and I hope that you continue to read!_

_This entry's turned out to be a lot longer than I initially thought. But hey, it's worth it to introduce Blake!_

**20 January 2010**

_02:26_

The first hunt was a complete and overwhelming success!

Tuesday morning was a very early morning; the twins and I woke at almost 05:00, at least five hours before our usual time. They protested, of course; they wanted to continue to sleep. But their breakfast of jerky was all they could eat; I wanted them to be well-fed for the hunt, so that their minds would be on me and my commands and not on their own hunger. I didn't let them over-eat, however; they would have stuffed themselves too full to move if I hadn't cut them off (much to their chagrin).

By 06:00, we were fed, and I was bundled for the cold day. I had checked our weather instruments for the first time since setting up the traps and laying them out; the day was supposed to be clear of precipitation, if clouded over, and warmer than usual (though still frigid). I figured that I would begin with salvaging, then, and follow up with the hunt itself after I'd found what I could.

I admit that I was nervous. I was placing a large amount of trust in my twins; trust that they would return after letting them loose, trust that they wouldn't turn on me as soon as I allowed them back in their environment. I feared that I hadn't done enough, that they weren't yet tame enough. I was close to putting off the hunt until I was more confident in my control over them—but my supplies were running low. I needed to salvage what I could from the research zone (which included several safe rooms used during the evacuations) for both myself and my twins. I couldn't really put it off any longer.

So I holstered my pistol and hefted the heavy fire axe I chose in place of a rifle (something I couldn't use with one hand), and led the twins out the door.

One fear was assuaged almost immediately—that which said my twins would run as soon as they were outside. Chris and Lexi flanked me, walking on two legs, completely alert; their noses were constantly working, and their heads swiveled back and forth like their necks were rubber—but they didn't run, didn't try to escape. It may just have been because they still wore their collars—but a part of me hoped it was because they considered me pack.

I led them away from the lab after having closed the door tight behind me. I could still get in, of course, but no Infected could (except a Tank), and that was what mattered. I headed for the closest safe room for salvaging, with both twins remaining by my sides, resembling two-legged guard dogs.

I found it easily. This one was set in a pharmacy's delivery dock. Many of the boxes that were still there contained items useless in a zombie apocalypse, and much of what _was_ useful had already been raided by the crowds of people passing through. But not all of it had been taken, and I began filling an empty box with what I needed, what I thought I could use…and a few new toys and rawhide bones for the twins. I even found a pair of pet beds in which they'd fit and still be comfortable.

Of course, as soon as I made my choices, my twins tried to get into the box I was packing. I managed to keep them from pawing through, but their faces were all but plastered onto its sides. I believe they smelled the bones, knew them for what they were, and were impatient to get to them. To keep them calm while I worked, I eventually opened a large one and tossed it to Lexi. She caught it in her mouth and bounded off as Chris lunged at her to get a taste, too. He chased her, pounced on her, and they started wrestling over it.

I had brought with me a sort of makeshift sled that I'd made before I found Chris and Lexi; I knew I couldn't carry much of anything, with or without both hands—not and still be able to defend myself—so I needed something to carry what I'd salvaged. It was really just a few wooden boards nailed together and then bolted onto metal bars that acted as runners, but it was sturdy enough to carry what I needed. It was hooked to a harness made from the chain to which I had once tied my twins, which I now wore myself. The whole array made a lot of noise, but I really only had to worry about the lone Smoker prowling the sector; I would have plenty of warning to find safety before he could attack me—and that was if the twins didn't get to him first, if they would.

I whistled the "halt" and "here" commands, and to my gleeful surprise, they immediately stopped and came back—though Lexi was essentially strutting with the bone in her mouth (she _was_ grinning around it, though, no mistaking it). She dropped it into one hand when I offered the both of them jerky as a reward for obedience, and immediately put it back again when she'd devoured the piece. With my twins beside me, I moved on to the next safe room a block north of that first one.

By lunchtime, the twins' bone was gone (at least I had a box full of them by then) and I had loaded my sled with as much as I was able to pull. I stopped in a former Arby's with its roof partially collapsed for a quick rest before I started back to the lab. I took the opportunity to feed the twins—this time, however, I fed them real (if partly rotting) meat, which I found frozen in one of the safe rooms. I built a fire out of a couple of wooden chairs I found nearby, hot enough to defrost the meat (I honestly wasn't sure what it was—turkey, maybe, or chicken) but not cook it. As soon as I determined it was soft enough, I set it out for the twins. They tore into it ravenously, with a vigor that left me wondering why they hadn't been terrorizing me while I was softening it for them.

I took the opportunity to gather a bit of clean snow (which wasn't hard—with no humans but me and a very small Infected population left in the city, the snow was just as fresh as first fall) and a pot and start to boil some clean water. Then I began to cook for myself for the first time since the Infection itself began to spread.

Just as my impromptu meal of beans and mystery meat was ready, I heard something that made me freeze for half a moment and sent chills down my spine that didn't have anything to do with the cold. It was a distinctive wheezing and coughing—the Smoker knew I was here, and was headed for my location. It was unlikely he was bothered by the twins; Hunters were Infected, like he was, and so he likely didn't even think about them. The twins themselves heard him and smelled him, too; they were agitated, dropping to all fours and pacing back and forth.

He appeared at the edge of the collapsed roof, and I will admit that I screamed, which just further agitated the twins; they shrieked what I hoped was a warning at the Smoker, who looked at them and coughed again, though it almost sounded like a growl. He was tall as all Smokers are, and his tongue dangled to his waist. What he wore, however, was rather strange: A filthy lab coat that had once been white, but was now soiled and stained that it'd never be white again; a faded blue dress shirt and ripped blue jeans; and a _cowboy hat and boots_. A stethoscope had been draped around his neck, though it was likely fused to his flesh now thanks to the tumors that had grown around it. Clipped to his chest was his I.D. badge, although I couldn't read it from where I was on the ground. He might have been handsome once, but the virus had made him hideous…and deadly.

I couldn't run; the sled would slow me down, but I didn't dare leave it—its cargo was too precious. I couldn't get up to him to whack him with the axe. That left my pistol, which would have to do. I drew it and tried to fire—but all of my shots went wide. I wasn't as good with my left hand as I was with my right…which would have meant my death if I had been alone against any other Infected. I could swear that the Smoker _laughed_, and took the opportunity to snare me.

His aim had been almost impeccable; he deliberately hadn't gone for any part of my body except my neck. I felt the appendage wrap around my throat, tighten, and start to pull me toward him. I was, stupidly, still in my harness; it tightened around my body when I reached the end of the chains' length, resisting the Smoker's pulls—which meant that I was being stretched between the two of them at least six feet in the air. I struggled to breathe, and I tried to displace the tongue around my neck, to no avail; my fingers slipped on the slime-like saliva that coated the appendage.

I was being hung, and there was no way I could save myself. What happened next, however, was nothing short of amazing to me.

I heard another shriek from Lexi and saw her leap. I felt the tongue snap somewhere above me, heard the Smoker's wheezing yell of frustration. I fell onto Chris, who had positioned himself on his back underneath me for just that reason; when I landed on him, his arms wrapped around me, and he flipped us both over so that he could stand over me protectively, snarling at the Smoker above.

I heard Lexi's growls above, though I was too dazed and still trying to catch my breath to be able to flip myself over again and see what was going on. I believe, however, that she was telling the Smoker off, so to speak—warning him that they were with me, that I was pack, too, and not food. Whether he really understood her or not was a mystery, but he seemed to get the hint that the twins were angry, and limped off.

When he was gone, Chris got off of me and crouched low enough to bump his head at my arm—an encouragement to me to get up as well as inquiring to my health. I sat up and started reassuring him, slipping my hand under his hood to give him a quick scratch behind the ear—a sign of affection I would always give the animals I treated. He seemed to appreciate it, purring and rubbing his cheek on my hand before I pulled it away. Lexi landed beside me, and I did the same for her, receiving the same response.

My fears of the two of them abandoning me evaporated at that point. They had defended me, saved my life. They hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity to kill me that the Smoker gave them. Instead, they had proven that I was theirs, as they were mine. I was pack.

After pulling off the portion of the tongue that was still wrapped around my neck, I quickly finished my almost-forgotten meal and started back to the lab. Thankfully, no other incident occurred—although I could swear I heard the Smoker's coughing some distance behind me. I just left the sled inside the door; I would unload it later, after the first hunt.

Now, I hadn't yet mentioned the precise location of the lab, primarily because it was supposed to be kept confidential; but I believe that doesn't matter anymore, not in this world. Therefore, the location of the field lab was on the northern edge of the city, just between the border of urban and suburban. It was how I hoped to be able to hunt good meat, and not just small game; winter would drive deer and other animals farther and farther out in search of food and without a human population to disturb them, their hunger would likely push them into suburbia at the very least. So when the twins and I left the lab again that day, we turned north, toward where I assumed we would have success.

As soon as we were a distance away from the lab—about half a mile into suburbia—I gave the command to begin the hunt. Almost immediately, my twins were off like a shot, leaving a small flurry of snow in their wake. I followed after at a more sedate pace, letting them find a scent and follow it without much interference from me. I kept my pistol ready, however, just in case. I was fairly sure I could hear that…that cowboy Smoker again.

After about an hour of following my twins' tracks (which really just consisted of a lot of disturbed snow where there otherwise wouldn't be) I heard Lexi scream, followed moments after by Chris. The sound was what I now consider to be the Hunter equivalent of a bloodhound's baying—they had found a trail, and were sounding the chase. I hurried off after them as fast as I could in the snow (I think it was almost a foot and a half deep).

They were, of course, too fast for me. I heard Lexi's killing roar several minutes before I arrived to a very grisly scene. Both of the twins were feasting on a freshly-killed buck when I got there, his throat torn open and his entrails spread about the backyard of some middle-class family's home. I fought down nausea brought on by both the sight and the sickening smell, but I lost that battle. I vomited in a nearby bush until there was nothing left to vacate. I swallowed a bit of snow to settle my stomach and to clean out my mouth, and then got to work.

I let the twins eat as a reward for their kill, but when they'd had enough I started to cut the buck apart, deboning it and removing the choicest portions. I had come prepared for this purpose, of course; I carried a large cooler with me, partially filled with ice to keep the meat fresh; I used my axe to sever the hooves, limbs, and head, and then pulled out a skinning knife (which I'd procured before I started this project) to peel off the fur. The twins wrestled over a thigh-bone as I worked.

When I was close to being done (and it took me twice as long as it should have, thanks to my hand), I heard the Smoker's hacking behind me. I whirled around with my knife, ready to at least make another attempt to defend myself. The twins stopped bickering long enough to growl warningly at him. He seemed to ignore them, looking directly at me. Then he braced himself, planting his feet, and shot out his tongue…

…directly at the deer head.

I could only watch, stunned, as he pulled the head to him and started eating it from the neck up. The twins went back to playing, so I assumed I was safe, at least. From this distance, I could actually read a little bit of his badge; blood had splattered and dried on it, blocking a portion of it, but I could at least make out his name and see his picture.

He had been a doctor; of what sort, I'm not sure, but his name had been Dr. Patrick Blake, M.D. He was as old I was, though, judging by his picture. (Amusingly enough, the virus hadn't done anything to change his looks beyond the mass of tumors that engulfed his left side—he had been scruffy before Infection.) I was willing to guess that he had been infected by a patient; caring for the person, but unable to diagnose the symptoms of the Infection until it was too late. I actually felt a little sorry for him, despite his attempt on my life earlier.

I actually stood and approached him at that point, while he was feasting on something other than me. I said his name, to which he responded with a wheezing growl; like the twins, he still knew his name. (Which brought up another question in my mind: Do all Specials remember their names, as a way of self-identification? Do only some of them, like Hunters and apparently Smokers? Or is it, as I had said before, just because the virus hadn't completely destroyed their minds?) He had to be more than seven feet tall; I'm five-foot-eight, and he towered over me. His single eye narrowed as I approached and even touched his arm, but he didn't strike out at me or anything.

The smell was almost overpowering, of course. He smelled of dried blood, old sweat, and other fluids, as well as the distinct odor of his smoky spore-cloud. That one is almost impossible to describe, really; it's almost like a skunk's musk, but heavier. It made me sneeze a few times, which actually made him laugh—rather, he made a series of short coughs that resembled laughter.

I whapped his arm which just made him laugh again. I scolded him and he fell silent (save for his wheezing, of course), but his single eye still held a sparkle of humor. It feels strange to write that about an Infected creature, but Dr. Blake was easily the most human of the three zombies. Then and now, I expected him to be on the level of a gorilla who had learned sign language—more intelligent than the twins, and able to communicate much more effectively, but still no longer human.

Assured that Dr. Blake wasn't going to attack me, I went back to finish gathering the venison. When there was nothing left I could salvage from the corpse, I whistled for the twins to join me. They ceased their tug-of-war game (Chris won this time—usually Lexi does), but instead of immediately coming to me, they went up to Dr. Blake first. They sniffed noisily at him before rubbing their heads on his arms.

That surprised me; I had no idea the twins were so familiar with him already. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised; the three of them had lived in the home sector for at least two months before I'd tamed the twins—it wasn't impossible that they had been a pack in that time. In fact, perhaps that was why Dr. Blake attacked me in the first place. He either didn't realize or didn't accept that I was pack, too, until the twins made it clear that yes, I _was_ pack, and that I was there to stay.

I finished up with the venison and called a second hunt. Three hours later, my cooler was entirely full, and so were Dr. Blake and the twins. It was nearing dark by then, so we headed back to the lab.

I had made a major decision that night. I couldn't fit Dr. Blake into the cages I'd used for the twins; they were wide and roomy, but they weren't very tall. The Smoker towered over them as he did me. But I also felt that the pack had to remain together, newly reunited as they were. So I decided that they were going to sleep in my room, with me—I would do away with the cages entirely.

The rooms in the lab's small dormitory accommodated two people. I had roomed with a relatively tall young woman, a geneticist from University of Rochester; she was the one to become the Spitter when the Infection spread in the lab. I had cleared out most of her things when I returned to the lab, leaving plenty of room for me, but her bed was still there—it was far too heavy for me to move on my own. It was long enough for Dr. Blake to be comfortable, at least. So I set up the new pet beds for the twins in my room, moved their old toys and the new ones with them, and put covers on the other bed for the Smoker.

As I write this, the twins are curled together in one pet bed, while Dr. Blake is snoring—_loudly_—on the second bed. I don't think I'll be training him; he strikes me as too independent to be willing to learn actual commands. But he works well enough on the hunt as he proved today (he tripped up the buck in full flight to let the twins pounce), and he's pack, so I'm willing to let him stay.

When my hand heals, I think I may try to find civilization. Others should know about my success; they should know how to live with these zombies, these creatures borne from humankind. As I had said before, if everyone knows they can be tamed, humans can take back our world without fearing for our lives. But until then, I have no plan.

Perhaps I may do some exploring of the other sectors. Maybe…with both twins at my sides and Dr. Blake at my back…maybe I can get close enough to study the Witch that wanders through Home Sector.

We'll just have to see.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	10. Day 34

_Author's Notes: You folks continue to rock my world. :D I have a couple treats for ya! Check out my profile for some pictures of the Pack as done by me, and as commissions from other, far better artists!  
_

_Also, announcement! In addition to _From the Desk_, I'm working on a couple new fics. One I've mentioned already: the companion piece to FtD, tentatively titled _Hunter Red_. That one is the story of the Home Sector Pack from their view, beginning from their Infection to when this fic ends; I'll be modeling it after the book _Raptor Red_ by Dr. Robert T. Bakker. (For those unfamiliar with either name or book, Dr. Bakker is a leading dinosaur archaeologist who wrote _Raptor Red_ to dramatize his evolutionary theories, specifically about the then recently-discovered Utahraptor.) The second fic, however, is going to be the novelization (fanfictionization?) of the RP that spawned the members of the Home Sector Pack in the first place. That RP isn't going on anymore, but I wanted to at least share what was already done. I can only hope that both the new fics go over as well as this one did!_

_Speaking of this fic…time to get to it. Introducing Caroline! Enjoy!_

* * *

**26 January 2010**

_22:42_

It has been a month since I began this project. In that time, I have become the matriarch of a pack of two Hunters and a Smoker. I say "matriarch," instead of "alpha" now; injured and human as I am, any one of my three could have challenged my authority and won if they cared to. They would have, if this had been a normal Infected pack—but it isn't, and they won't. The twins defer to me, and obey my commands even after I removed their collars. Blake, too, defers to me, but as my second and as my protector. We are a family, of a sort, and I stand at the head of it.

The first few days since my last entry were spent hunting and little else. I was determined to fill the larder before another snowstorm hit. My three weren't adverse to this, however; the twins especially were quite content to be prowling and killing again, and Blake…well, Blake is hard to read, but he seemed happy to be out, too. At least he was useful both in the hunt, and as my bodyguard.

I needed a protector, too, it seemed. Winter had driven not only the game into suburbia, but also its predators, which included the Infected. Being human and immune, I was their prime target—if they caught wind of me, instinct demanded they dropped everything to destroy me. I was attacked several times, but each time, Blake, the twins or all three would protect me. Once, Blake pulled a Jockey from midair as it was jumping at me to snap its neck; another time, Blake pulled me from a Charger's path and the twins finished it off while it was dazed from hitting the side of a house. I was practically helpless, but at least I could supplement their defenses with a few shots from my pistol.

No strong snowstorms hit, although there was some new snowfall. This was fine with me, of course, as it meant I could start foraging again without hindrance. This time, I would be looking for other foodstuffs; I'd found a little on my last trip, but only enough to last me for another week or so. I needed more soon…but not so soon that I couldn't accomplish something else first.

On Friday after breakfast, I took my pack out again, but not to hunt this time. We headed for the northwest corner of the Home Sector, right in the wandering Witch's path. She was due in that section close to when we arrived that morning; I wanted to see her for myself…and to see my three's reaction to her. I set myself up in an alley that branched off of the street she "patrolled," and waited. Blake sat on the roof of the three-story building to my right, where he could watch me and the street. The twins play-wrestled around me to keep warm.

I only had to wait ten minutes before I heard her sobbing. Almost immediately, Blake got to his feet, and the twins stopped playing, crouching on either side of me. I think all their remaining senses were alert—certainly their heads never stopped moving, and their noses were constantly working. I could see her after another few minutes. She was almost a generic example of a Witch—dressed in nothing but her tattered underclothes, deathly pale with foot-long claws dominating her hands. But she differed from a typical Witch in that she was smaller; likely, she'd been in her late teens when she was Infected.

I will admit to fear as the Witch approached. This strain was second only to the Tank in terms of strength and ferocity. When startled, a Witch is relentless in its pursuit of a target, tearing apart anything that gets in its way. It's fast—second only to a Hunter or Charger in full charge—and it can kill with one blow of its terrible claws. If she recognized my presence, I was all but dead.

As she drew closer, the twins grew more restless. They were whining and pacing as though I had them on chains again; when she'd drawn level with us, the twins both shrieked, and she paused and pulled her claws from her head. I stood, stepping over Lexi and around the chair. I kept my hands at my sides, just in case Blake decided to pull me up. She was beginning her threat display—spreading her arms and turning toward me—when she spotted the twins.

She let out a piercing scream, and made a rush forward. But she didn't run for me; in fact, I don't think she ever saw me at all. Instead, Lexi stood to meet her, and she and the Witch went tumbling into the snow. As soon as Lexi was down, the Witch curled in against her, and started to sob again. Lexi began licking over the small Infected's face as though to clean her off, all the while purring as loudly as she could manage. Chris joined them, crouching low to rub his head against the Witch's while purring as loud as Lexi. Even Blake landed beside me, watching the three of them.

I was stunned. Obviously, this Witch had been pack, too—but she was apparently very close to the twins in a way Blake hadn't been. I wondered if she was related to them somehow. Had the twins not been the only children in the Sommers family? I needed to find out, of course, but that was later.

After spending several minutes like that, Chris finally backed away until he was next to me, and barked. The Witch looked up at the sound, and finally spotted me as Chris started to rub his head against my leg like a cat. Lexi slipped out from underneath her and moved over next to me, too, mirroring her brother. The Witch stood, a distinctly confused expression on her face. She looked between me and Chris, obviously unsure as to what to make of this. Her instincts were likely screaming at her to kill me, but the twins, likely her family, her blood, were displaying affection towards me. She was even growling softly, as she would when beginning her threat display.

Blake was the one who decided her when he moved to stand behind me and put a hand on my shoulder (which spoke volumes as to his role in the pack before I took over). The Witch's claws twitched, but she approached slowly, her eyes never leaving me as she moved. I caught her gaze and held it, drawing myself as tall as I could and tried to look like both a leader and a mother at the same time even though I was frightened almost out of my wits. I even smiled, and held out my uninjured hand. She broke eye contact long enough to glance down at it, but they immediately came up again. I felt the twins lean their bodies against my legs, which would have thrown me off balance if they weren't on either side of me. I took a little comfort in their support, which boosted my confidence in surviving this encounter—and that likely showed.

The Witch took my hand with a delicacy that I'm positive only a human could have, being very careful not to puncture my skin with her claws. I smiled wider and gently tugged her close, wrapping my arms around her in a warm hug that I hoped would reassure her. It worked; she returned the hug, squeezing tightly (almost _too_ tightly, actually—I was having a bit of trouble breathing) and burying her face into my coat to start crying again. Blake let go of me, but not without a gentle squeeze to my shoulder.

I was so relieved that I might have fallen over if I hadn't been surrounded by my three. I had survived an encounter with a Witch, one of the most deadly strains of the Green Flu, and—thanks to my twins and Blake—brought her into my pack. I had done what no other human had done—or will likely do again.

I let her cry on me for a little while, at least, muttering comfortingly to her. I don't know how much she understood, if any of it, but it seemed to relax her enough to let go of me. Blake approached her then, and she clung to him as tightly as she had me. He twirled his tongue around her, wrapped his arm around her, and held her while I gathered my things. By the time I was ready, her sobbing had died down to sniffling and the occasional whimper.

CEDA had provided our laboratory with electronic records of everything that might be remotely related to what we were doing here. They were stored in our private servers, and didn't require the internet to access. Those records included public files of the city's residents—which themselves included Chris and Lexi. I finally brought myself to search through those records once the five of us returned to the lab and the Witch was settled in and playing with the twins.

Chris and Alexis—Lexi, that is—had a younger, seventeen-year-old sister named Caroline. She resembled her older siblings, but she hadn't been an athlete as the twins had. Instead, she was involved with her school's musical programs, being the school's star flautist. She had been a talented young woman, a singer as well as flautist, and a good student to boot. She might have gone quite far in life…had this Infection not struck.

Such was the case with the twins, too. They had been attending the local community college, running track. They had been arrested twice for trespassing; evidently, they had been freerunners in the off-season, using that "sport" to keep themselves in shape. They were hardly ever found alone; about the only thing that separated them were their sexes.

Blake, too, had been rather successful. He was four years older than me, born in Austin; he moved here and set up his practice after receiving his doctorate. He had been the family physician for my twins and Caroline, I found—which solved the mystery of how the four of them became pack in the first place. His offices had been located at the southern end of the city, close to the hospital. I would never know, but I wondered who Infected whom; somehow, it wasn't a question in my mind that either the Sommers Infected Blake, or Blake Infected them.

After I brought her back to the lab, Caroline had quickly attached herself to me, rarely straying more than few yards from me; the few times she _does_ leave my side is with the twins or with Blake. She is very child-like; when she isn't crying, she's actually trying to talk, although she remains incomprehensible. She likes to play with the twins—not precisely in the manner that they play with each other, but she likes fetch, at least, and tug-of-war. At night, when she finally settles for sleep, she's usually joined me, the twins, or Blake—but she never sleeps alone. In fact, she doesn't like to be left alone for more than a few moments at a time, screaming and making a fuss if we're gone too long.

Because of this separation anxiety, she joined us when I led the forages beginning Saturday, and even helped me to pick through what I found. On those forages, I made…not quite a discovery, but I at least confirmed what CEDA had suspected of her strain: Witches were attracted to sugar to the point of addiction. (They had had that suspicion since every sugar mill, refinery, and distribution center around the country had been overrun with Witches as the Infection spread.) All the sugary items she could find, whether rotted or not, she tore into without any hesitation or regard to her surroundings. And she was skilled at finding them—she was keener to the scent of sugar and heavily sweetened treats than either of the twins were.

Beyond her discovery, however, the week or so remained uneventful. I was able to forage quite a bit with Caroline's help. We will last until spring, when we leave to find society again…at least, we'll last, if the pack doesn't grow any more than it has already.

However, I don't think that will be a problem. CEDA had kept the lab's records up to date until we were overrun (and then they abandoned it apparently); from what I was able to determine, either the Infection or the Infected themselves had claimed the Sommers' family and Blake's. They don't realize this, of course, but I think, at some deep level, they sense we're all we have left.

We are pack, we are family, and we are all we have left.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	11. Day 38

_Author's Note: Action! Or at least, as much action as Garnet writes. This chapter features an appearance from Zarla and Jazaaboo's female Special Infected! An explanation and links to their works and sites can be found at www DOT ashido DOT com/huntersmoker/ (want to buy clickable links durnit). Hope I did a good enough job capturing them! ^^_

**30 January 2010**

_Early afternoon…somewhere around 14:00_

Disaster has struck.

I was awakened this morning at around 07:00 by the twins. Rarely were they up this early, and they were restless for some reason. At first I'd thought it was because they needed their diapers changed, but that had turned out not to be the case (though I put on fresh ones anyway, just in case). By the time I was done with them, Caroline and Blake were awake, too; our Witch wouldn't stop growling or looking around frantically, nor would she cease flexing her claws. Even Blake was wary of something, though the only sign of his discomfort was the amount of smoke he was giving off.

I know by experience that animals are able to sense danger before it hits. Take those who had escaped to higher ground before the 2004 Indonesian tsunami, for example. The Infected seem to have that same sense—but not for natural disasters. The only thing that can rattle one of the Infected, it seems, is one of their own, that hulking brute known as a Tank. Thanks to my pack, I had enough time to dress for the cold and retrieve my pistol (as though it would be any good!) before it came.

I don't believe it knew I was in there. I believe it had migrated here, and my lab was in the way. But as soon as it smashed through the wall of the lab proper, it caught my scent, and then I was its target to crush.

I was frozen as it came at me, roaring its rage. I couldn't move, even though I knew I had to run. I couldn't even scream; fear held me in place, and I'm fairly sure my bladder let loose. My body wouldn't obey me, and I couldn't see or hear anything but that gruesome, jawless creature advancing on me. The only thought I had in my mind at the time was that this was the same Tank that had destroyed Private Carter and our two other compatriots the first time we were driven from the lab.

Blake finally broke me from my paralysis. His tongue wrapped around me and he yanked me to him with a strength he usually reserved for killing; I ended up flying down a portion of the corridor leading to the dorms, right into his arms. He kept hold of me as he turned and ran, forcing me to move or be dragged by my waist. I started running, and he let go. Behind us, the Tank gave chase with a bellow, crashing down the hallway after its prey.

My Smoker led me into a room with a window. He smashed it open and jumped, pulling me with him. I couldn't help it—I screamed. We only fell two stories, however, and I received only a few superficial scratches from the glass, but it did tear open my winter coat, letting in the chill wind. I started shivering almost immediately, but that died down as soon as we started running again. The transition to the snow did nothing to slow the Tank down; he kept up his pursuit relentlessly.

When we were several blocks away, I heard the twins' killing shrieks, followed by a pained roar from the Tank. Blake and I turned around to see the two of them clinging to its muscled back, tearing into its flesh with both sets of claws. It snarled and shook them off just as Blake's tongue shot out again. This time, my Smoker's aim was for the Tank's leg. His aim was again impeccable; the appendage wrapped around the behemoth's ankle, and he yanked again with the same strength he showed before. The Tank went down to one knee, and Blake bit off his tongue before our enemy could use it against him.

Lexi tried to take advantage of this, leaping at it again. But it caught her in one massive hand, and started to squeeze. She was helpless in its grasp with her arms pinned to her sides and her powerful legs dangling uselessly. She screamed in pain as his grip became painful and crushing. Chris leapt at the arm in which Lexi was being held, starting to gnaw and tear at the Tank's flesh in an effort to free his sister. The Tank's other hand came around, plucking the Hunter off and flinging him aside, followed closely by Lexi. Chris landed in a snowdrift with a yelp, but Lexi landed on top of him with a howl of pain.

The Tank started after Blake and me once again, but as it did, a horrible wail pierced the air. In a flurry of snow, Caroline rushed the Tank seemingly out of nowhere, her claws outstretched and her eyes blazing with fury. As it turned to meet her, she slashed at it, opening four deep gashes in its chest. These lacerations were deep; blood was spurting out with each heartbeat, splattering the snow. I wouldn't be surprised if she had pierced its heart. Certainly it would have been enough to disembowel a person, or even another Infected. Yet despite its wounds, the Tank roared in fury, swinging its heavy arms at its attacker.

Caroline was quick, though, quicker than the Tank. She ducked under the blows and followed up with another slash, this time from the other hand. A matching and intersecting set of gashes opened up; the Tank was losing blood fast. I brought up my pistol then to do what I could to help, even as Chris succeeded in digging himself from the snow and made another leap at the enemy's back. Caroline kept the giant's attention, screaming at it and dealing it the most damage to keep its fury directed at her.

In another few moments, it was over. The Tank collapsed, finally succumbing to its wounds. I let my trembling hand drop to my side and I leaned against Blake, who held me as I caught my breath and let the adrenaline burn itself out. Caroline slowly lowered to the ground, starting to sob again, while Chris immediately went to his twin's side. Lexi had, by then, pulled herself out of the snowdrift, but she was badly injured. Blood soaked her left sleeve, the arm hanging limp at an odd angle, and she seemed to be having trouble breathing. Chris tried to help her, but she snarled at him when he moved her the wrong way; he backed away, letting her move on her own. At least her legs seemed to work fine.

Still trembling from fear and cold, I pulled myself away from Blake to attend to the Huntress. She snapped at me, too, when I jostled her to determine her injuries, but I was too tired and emotionally charged to have any of it; I thumped her on the head, hard, with a fist. She growled, but settled enough to let me lift her sweatshirt.

Lexi was very heavily bruised, and abnormal movement in her ribs with each breath meant that several were cracked. But she was lucky; none of them seemed to have punctured a lung. I felt along her arm, earning a howl of pain from her, and found that the blood came from a protruding bone fragment a few inches below her armpit, with a second break just above her elbow. There was little I could do for her ribs except keep them as inert as possible, but her arm needed to be reset, and quickly. So I tore apart my shirt from under my coat and did my best to tie Lexi's arm steady. It would serve until we returned to the lab…or what was left of it.

Holding Lexi, I started leading my pack back to the lab. Blake paused long enough to rouse Caroline from her rest. I will admit that if it hadn't been winter, I would have been lost; Blake had led me into an area of the city with which I was completely unfamiliar. But thankfully, I had our tracks in the snow to follow back home.

When we got back to the lab, however, I realized right away that we couldn't stay there any longer. The walls through which the Tank had crashed had collapsed, and already snow was beginning to blow inside. The dormitory was uninhabitable with the gaping hole through its center and the floor crushed by the Tank's weight. The only building left untouched was storage. If I hadn't been the only human, we might have been able to rebuild—but I was, and my pack wouldn't be able to understand any commands I gave them. Rebuilding walls, resetting tile…renovating was beyond them.

My first order of business was treating Lexi. I tranquilized her so that she wouldn't accidentally strike me when I reset her bone and bound her midriff. When I did what I could for her bones, I put on a heavy cast on her arm, and put it in a tight enough sling that she couldn't break—not with that arm, anyway. But once I was done with her, I left her with her siblings to retrieve my sled, and begin work on picking out only what would be absolutely necessary for our survival. I had foraged quite a bit by today, and so that chore actually took me several hours to complete, including actually loading it onto the sled. Much of what I packed was food—for me, and for my pack.

By noon, I was ready to leave. Lexi had woken up by then, laying feline-style on her belly with her good arm tucked against her chest. Chris was right beside her, laying the same way and purring comfortingly to her. I whistled to them, and they came to me, though Lexi occasionally yelped in pain as she moved the wrong way. Caroline came to me, too, even though I'm not sure she understood the whistle; Blake had remained with me the entire time. When we were all ready, I led them out of the ruined lab, and started south.

About halfway through the city we found a compact brick building at the end of a street block that was still mostly intact. I can't say for sure what it might have been, as there were no signs on the exterior—but from the outside, it looked as though it was perfect shelter, at least for a little while. So I unhooked myself from my sled and moved to the frame that was once a glass door for a better look inside. There was little to see; it was very dark inside, and it lacked any shelves or desks. I wondered briefly if the building had been vacant even before the Infection.

So intent was I in trying to look inside that I didn't hear the incoherent babbling of a Charger until it came barreling at me from the rear of the building. Blake, however, was quick on his feet as usual, and pulled me from my attacker's path before it crashed through the door and into the street. He held on to me with both his tongue and his arm as the rest of the Charger's pack filtered from the building to face the intruders.

There were four in all, and they formed one of the mixed packs that we at CEDA had observed early on—a pack that played on the strengths of each individual, though they were each of different strains. This one consisted of the Charger, a Jockey, a Smoker and a Hunter. But what was really unusual to me was the fact that all four of them were female. I couldn't fathom why.

The rival pack gathered as mine surrounded me. Chris and Lexi both stood in front of Blake and me, snarling loudly and trying to be as intimidating as they could—even Lexi, who was quite obviously injured. Their snarls were answered by the rival Hunter. Blake, I believe, was having a staring contest with the female Smoker; she was glaring at him, her right hand flexing and her smoke billowing in waves. The Jockey clambered, cackling, onto the Charger's giant shoulder as she came up beside the Smoker. We stared each other down (save the Hunters of course), exchanging growls, snarls, and swipes; even I brought up my pistol, releasing the safety.

I had plenty of time to study them in those few moments. The Charger was the alpha, from the way the other three deferred to her. She wore the remnants of some sort of uniform; judging by what was left of a badge on her left (atrophied) shoulder, she had likely once been a caretaker at a zoo. That told me that they weren't from this city; the closest zoo was quite a ways away…but winter is a harsh mistress indeed, and they had likely migrated up here in search of food. Her skull had caved in on the left side, but amazingly, a filthy bandana still clung to what was left of her hair.

The Jockey was small and thin, even for her strain. A whipcord braid of hair the same color as my twins' dangled off of her right shoulder; I wondered how it could have stayed so well intact months after the Infection. She had a small backpack on her back, but I doubted that any of them realized what it was for. It was shredded, probably torn apart by her packmates or in a fight with some other Infected. An equally shredded sweater was tied around her waist, colored pink under the bloodstains. She was making swipes in our direction, her laughter never ceasing.

The Smoker never took her eye from Blake, looking as though she were sizing him up. She wore a faded plaid cardigan over a ragged t-shirt, along with ripped jeans and heavy boots—a look I believe was called _grunge_. But most unusual about her was the necklace that had fused in the tumors as they had consumed her face and neck. It was a simple piece, just a pear-shaped moonstone capped in silver on a chain of the same metal—all of it tarnished, of course. Despite the danger I knew I was in, wondered how easy it would be to remove it and Blake's stethoscope. Had the tumors actually consumed both items, and prevented non-invasive removal, or could I just lift the cancerous flesh and simply pull them off? I couldn't try it with this female Smoker, of course, as it was almost impossible I could capture her or convince her to stay—but I could certainly find out with Blake, once we were settled.

Of all of them, however, the Hunter was the most aggressive, as all Hunters are. She snarled at my twins with all her teeth bared (though that gesture was fairly useless against them). I found it quite appropriate that, given her virus-addled nature, she was wearing the remnants of a cat-eared sweatshirt; the ears were tattered, but still mostly intact, giving her a more animalistic look than my twins. She must have been a freerunner before Infection as Chris and Lexi had been, as her sweatshirt and pants were taped down much as theirs was.

Caroline, however, broke the tension. She sensed the hostility, and her crying turned into growls as she faced the rival pack. She spread her claws, falling into a full threat display. That Caroline was of our pack, and aggressive enough to fight for us, gave us the advantage. At that, the Charger seemed to decide I wasn't worth the effort of facing off against a Witch as well as two Hunters and a Smoker. She grunted, and turned to thump away with the Jockey still on her shoulder. The Hunter shrieked at us—or more specifically, the twins—but she followed after. The Smoker was last to go, finally tearing her eye from Blake to turn and limp after the others.

(I realized not long before she left that the reason she was so intent on Blake, and he on her, was because Smokers don't tolerate other Smokers. Rarely has more than one been observed coexisting peacefully in one place, much like birds of prey. The only reason Blake and the female Smoker hadn't been at each other's throats was because of their respective packs; if they'd encountered each other alone, only one would have survived.)

When they were out of sight, finally, we all five of us relaxed. Blake let me go, and I put on my harness again to pull the sled into the building. I took the opportunity to feed my pack and myself; it was a meager meal, and likely Chris would creep out sometime to snack and bring something back for the others. But that was exactly what I intended; most of the food I carried was for me, since I couldn't pull the sled if I'd brought enough for all of us. They could subsist on what they hunted; I couldn't.

There was no heat in the building, so we ended up practically piling together in a dark corner, the better to share heat and keep each other warm. Blake was the foundation, lying against the wall. I lay against his left side, while Caroline lay at his right. The twins curled together between the three of us. When we were settled, I began to write this.

With this turn of events, I believe that it's time to seek out civilization. We cannot stay here forever; there is no significant supply of food, especially if that all-female pack returns. Eventually, my supply will run out as well, and then I'm not sure what I'd do then if we stayed. So we go.

I will not say I'm not frightened. I am. I'm not at all sure of what I'm doing. But I take comfort in my pack, knowing that they'll continue to protect me, just as I do my best to take care of them. We are family now; we are pack.

We are the Home Sector Pack.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	12. Day 46

**07 February 2010**

_Unknown time_

After today's events, I'm beginning to rethink my position on returning to human society. At least, returning with my pack in tow. If every person thinks the way Private Carter did…

But again, allow me to start from the beginning.

We stayed in the empty store we usurped from that all-female pack for a few days since my last entry. Primarily, that pause was to give Lexi time to regain some of her strength. The virus has boosted the Infected's healing abilities by quite a bit, but even their bone structures take a while to mend. That said, however, I believe Lexi should be hunting again by the end of the month if those few days of rest were any indication; she can at least move without breathing hard and whining from the pain.

(And speaking of healing, I've begun to use my right hand again. Really, I'm only doing exercises with it and maybe performing a few small tasks—but at least I'm _using_ it, and not just keeping it in a sling. It's still very weak, however, and I'm fairly sure that I'll be able to predict the weather with it as the cliché goes. In fact, I'd be surprised if it'll ever be fully usable again. Chris's teeth had pierced straight through my hand and tore the muscle, after all.)

When we moved on from the empty store, we turned west, toward the city limits and suburbia. We truly didn't have any trouble from other Infected; Caroline's presence essentially guaranteed our dominance, and so no one else wanted to challenge us. We had passed another Witch, but she had settled for the night, and didn't even notice our presence.

Earlier this afternoon, however, the twins halted in place and started growling rather ferociously. They both dropped to all fours in the snow—even Lexi, who was still injured. I half-expected their sweatshirts to be fluffed out or standing on end with the way they were behaving; they were putting on a full threat display, which meant they were intimidated by something. Behind me, I could feel Blake tensing up a little, and his left hand started twitching.

The twins started forward, stalking in the snow as if they were hunting. But they both stopped; they knew something was wrong. Blake's head was moving constantly, looking around the houses by which we were surrounded. Even Caroline's sobs were quieting into small growls, and she'd brought her claws from her face to look around.

I realized that their behavior was because the twins could smell another human being within the vicinity. A stranger they didn't recognize, that they didn't consider pack. Their instincts were telling them to kill, and they'd almost forgotten my leadership and listened to that instinct, even though I hadn't given them the command. They'd stopped themselves from going after the person without my help, and I would have been more impressed with that if I hadn't been more concerned with finding another survivor.

A gunshot rang out, and struck Lexi in her left shoulder. She shrieked, scrambling backwards, clutching at her wound with her good hand. I shouted as loudly as I could to cease fire and immediately went to treat her. I threw off my gloves and pulled out our only first aid kit and what little operating tools I'd been able to bring. I pulled off her sweatshirt despite her protests (at least she wasn't actively fighting me this time) and used snow to clean out the wound and hopefully stem the bloodflow. Then I got to work in extracting the bullet and stitching the wound closed. Her arm was already immobile, thankfully, so she wouldn't have any trouble letting it heal along with her bones.

There was a police cruiser near me, and I was aware of the radio crackling to life as I worked. I ignored it in favor of treating Lexi, but when I was done and she was sulking next to Caroline, I finally became conscious of the voice blaring through it. I froze when I recognized it; that voice was one I never thought I'd hear again. It was Private Trevor Carter—the man who had been the glue that held together the small band of survivors from my field lab. We had depended on him, and he came through for us. I rushed to the car and grabbed the receiver.

(I will try to transcribe the exchange as best as I can remember.)

"Trevor? Trevor Carter, is that you?" My voice was shaking, I think. I know I certainly was.

"Holy shit…_Garnet?_ Dr. Garnet, you're still alive?"

"_I'm_ still alive? What about you? I thought you'd been crushed by a Tank…I thought you were dead!"

"It'd take more than some damn Tank to down me—it _almost_ did, but I played dead until it wandered off. Listen—what the _hell_ were you doing to that Hunter thing?"

"What?" The question took me by surprise. I was elated to find Trevor again, to know that he was still alive, and that I wouldn't be the only human anymore. But there was a tone in his voice that I didn't comprehend at the time.

"I shot it and I was going to kill it if you didn't get in the way! What are you doing?"

"I was helping her, Trevor. She needed her wound treated."

"_Helping_ a zombie, Garnet? Really? Shit, being alone so long must have gotten to your head."

My heart was starting to sink here as I realized that he might not share my enthusiasm for my pack. "All four of them are my companions, Trevor. The Hunters are twins, named Chris and Lexi. The Smoker is Blake and the Witch is Caroline."

"You _named them?_"

"No, those were their names before they were Infected. Chris still had his wallet with a picture of him and his sister; Blake has his ID badge. I had to look Caroline up, but she's the twins' younger sister and…"

"I can't believe this." He sounded angry. "You're actually treating them like they're people!"

"They're not. I know they're not. But they're _animals_, Trevor, and what was I before all this went down? Tell me what I was."

He hesitated. "A vet, but Garnet, they're not—"

"They're animals. They're intelligent, wild animals. I was alone and scared. There was nowhere I could go, Trevor. No one was coming back for me. But I know how to train animals. I took a chance to survive. And Trevor…_I succeeded._" I couldn't contain the excitement in my voice. "I caught Chris first, and then Lexi, and I trained them. I was forced to use shock collars because they can't respond to anything less, but I trained them. They follow my commands, they look to me as their leader—Trevor, they're my hunting dogs! Blake and Caroline just came with them, I suppose, probably because they were pack before…"

"Disgusting." Even over the radio I could hear the venom in Carter's voice. It stunned me. "Absolutely disgusting. You made _zombies_ your _pets_."

"They're…they're not pets. They're too wild to be pets. We…we're pack. We're the Home Sector Pack. We're equal, all five of us."

"Equal—listen, Garnet. These things aren't human anymore. They're hideous, mindless _zombies_. They're out to kill us all, those who ain't Infected. The human race is almost wiped out because of these freaks, and you're fucking _taming_ them like they're dogs or some shit."

"They aren't mindless! Yes, the virus ravaged their brains and their bodies, but they're intelligent. They're wolves and tigers and hyenas, Trevor! The killing instincts can be defeated—we can live beside them!"

There was a long silence, then: "I don't know you anymore. Get the hell out of here before I start mistaking you for one of them."

And then another shot rang out, and I heard the bullet pierce the top of the cruiser's roof. Startled, I dropped the radio receiver and threw myself to the ground. Carter fired again, this time at Chris's feet. He snarled, dancing away. I got back onto my feet, whistled for my pack to join me, and started running as fast as I could to the south.

I needed to get my pack away from this man on whom I'd once depended.

Carter shot at us for as long as he could see us. He never hit one of us (again), but he made sure we knew we weren't welcome. He even fired at me.

After running for some time, we finally found a shed that was, thankfully, both abandoned and mostly intact. I shooed the pack inside and shut the door behind us. After unharnassing myself from my sled, I fed the pack even from my own supply, to help reassure them, and tended to their needs. But when we were all full and the twins were wrestling (gingerly, with Lexi's injuries), I broke down in a corner to cry with my face buried in my hands.

I couldn't help myself. I felt as bad as Lexi was hurt. I felt betrayed. When I realized that Carter lived, I thought…I thought I might be saved from this hell. I wouldn't be alone anymore, I wouldn't need the pack, I could remain with Trevor and he could take me to human society. But then…then he started shooting at us—at _me_.

I wondered, as I cried alone, whether or not I'd done…well, perhaps not _right_, but if I'd actually accomplished something in capturing and training the twins. Carter had made a point: Every zombie had once been human, and they'd become zombies in the first place from the virus. I'm immune (and I hope not a carrier) but not everyone is. Living side by side wouldn't be possible if our species was extinguished by the creatures we sought to tame, even if those creatures did us no direct harm. So did taming Chris and Lexi, did forming the Home Sector Pack _mean_ anything? Was there a point to this mad project of mine?

As I cried, I felt something large thump down beside me, and I could smell Blake's smoke-cloud (about the only portion of his scent I really notice anymore). When I looked up, his tongue moved to brush at a fresh tear that was starting down my cheek, before curling around me. He started tugging gently at me until I gave in and moved closer; that tugging only ceased when I was actually in his lap. Then he wrapped his arms around me and just held me. His single eye watched me, and I swear he was watching me with concern.

I don't think Blake knew why I was crying. I don't think he understood that I'd known the survivor that had been shooting at us. But he was trying to comfort me anyway, trying to make me feel better.

I buried my face into his bloody, ragged dress shirt as whatever dam I'd built inside finally broke free. All of my fears and frustrations from the past few months since the beginning of the outbreak came pouring out. I cried for several hours, and Blake just held me and tried to wheeze and cough out comforting noises to me. I could feel his right hand petting my hair softly as I sobbed enough to rival Caroline, and his tongue kept sliding up to wipe away my tears.

It was dark by the time I finally ran out of tears. But Blake was still there, still watching me, still petting me. I looked up at him again, and he gave me a gentle squeeze, managing to rasp at me in a questioning tone—he was asking me if I was all right now. I smiled at him, assured him that I was, and leaned up to give him a gentle kiss at the corners of his mouth—including directly on his tumor on his left side. His eye widened a little in surprise at my kisses, but he smiled as best as he could. His tongue withdrew from around me, but it moved up to brush across my lips in return, and he grumbled softly and affectionately.

At that point, Caroline made a soft, inquisitive sound. I looked up and I saw her glowing red eyes watching me curiously. I shifted my position until my back was pressed against Blake's chest, and my head was resting on his left shoulder, just below the massive tumor. Then I gestured for Caroline to join us, and she cuddled in against me. I draped my right arm around her shoulders, hugging her gently.

The twins joined us after several moments, too. Lexi moved in on my left side much as Caroline had, rubbing her head against my shoulder. I scratched her behind the ear and gave her a light peck on the head. Chris draped himself on both his sister's legs and mine, and his head rubbed at my leg just above my knee—just within my reach. I gave him a gentle scratch, too, and then both twins started purring softly. We stayed like that for a while until I finally extracted myself just long enough to retrieve this journal and start writing.

Yes, tame Chris and Lexi means something—to me. Yes, there was a point—to me—to this project. The point was my survival. Its meaning…

I came to at least two conclusions tonight. The first is that…I am in love with Blake. It is so strange, so _awkward_, to write that, _especially_ about a zombie, but…he is nothing but my strong, silent supporter. His mind is just human enough, his brain still intact enough, that I occasionally have a glimpse of his true personality—and what I have seen, I have fallen in love with. Tonight merely affirmed what I'd known in my heart for a few weeks now.

The second is that there _was_ a point to my project. The point was my survival. I wouldn't have stayed alive if I hadn't captured Chris and Lexi. But there is also meaning to it, and that meaning is that I am not alone. So long as I have my pack, so long as I have Blake, I am not alone. My Sommers will never abandon me, and Blake will never leave my side. I am not alone, nor will I ever be again.

But what will happen when we finally find society?

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	13. Day 65

**26 February 2010**

_14:02_

I write this in the comfort of a real bed, under the light of an electric lamp, while wearing clean pajamas. I write this from a fortified compound located…well, the best I can say is a fortnight's hike west of the city from which I came. I've been fed a warm, rich meal, and I had a good, long soak in a warm bath. For the first time in months, I'm clean, well-fed and comfortable. I'm surrounded by humanity, civilians like me who are trying to live in this new, post-apocalyptic world.

And yet I am alone.

After our encounter with Trevor, we continued westward. Winter, even so mild as this one has been, is harsh when you live in the wild, with only a few basic tools. My supplies had run low after about a week and a half, and so I'd started eating what Chris and Lexi brought me. (Lexi was back to hunting in a week, even though her arm was still weak. The Infected are, indeed, very quick healers.) I tried to ration what was left of my supplies; there was little I could do to salvage, as we'd left city and suburbia behind long ago.

Keeping warm wasn't so much of a problem, however. In the day, we were constantly moving, and the effort kept me warm. At night, we were piled together to share our heat. My pack has no trouble keeping themselves warm; the virus keeps their body temperatures feverishly high, and so they're not bothered by the below-freezing temperatures. They seem to understand that I don't have that ability, however, so when we settled each night, Blake would serve as my mattress and one or both of the twins would serve as my blanket.

I was always exhausted, always hungry…but I had my pack, and I was content.

Last Saturday—the 20th—was a particularly cold night. I wasn't able to sleep because I was shivering too hard, despite being in the middle of a pile of zombies. Blake, however, decided to keep me warm in a more…intimate way.

It was the first time I'd truly let any man have me. That that man was also a zombie was at first a little daunting. (All right, _very_ daunting, especially with his smoke and tumors.) Yet he was gentle, and somehow skilled with his tongue, even though I'm quite sure he never before had the opportunity to use it as he had with me. He was the closest to being human with me, at that time, as he ever had been.

Suffice to say that at that point…I became his mate, and he mine.

I'm still not quite sure if it's right. He is a Smoker, a zombie, and therefore not human. Those who think as Trevor did would consider it akin to bestiality, and I wouldn't be disinclined to disagree. But I cannot deny what I feel for my Patrick; his brain is, so far as I can tell, still mostly intact. (And so is Caroline's, as a matter of fact.) He can communicate when he wishes, even if it's not verbally and not the clearest. He uses tools when he cares to.

Most human of all—he has morals. Though he was insistent in his advances, he hesitated when he sensed the same fear that had frozen me when I first stripped Chris to bathe him. He didn't make any move until I made it clear that I was willing, just unfamiliar and a little intimidated. And he made sure that _I_ was satisfied, too.

Right or wrong, however, at the very least, I now know that the virus hasn't destroyed the zombies' ability or instinct to mate. Though, what a mating might produce, if anything, is yet a mystery to me.

The Sommers seemed happy enough that we'd mated to each other. They gave us space when we…needed it, and the twins started to defer to Blake as they did to me. Caroline began to grow closer to the both of us together, as a unit, likely considering us to be the parents she had lost. I could swear that some of the syllables she babbled one night sounded like "Mama" and "Papa," but perhaps that's merely my imagination.

At any rate…we continued west without any set destination. Chris and Lexi hunted as we travelled, bringing back squirrels, field mice and others smallish creatures. I supplemented that with the rations from my supplies. And so we lasted for nearly another week before last night.

Last night, before we settled for the night, I spotted a light across the horizon. It was nowhere near dawn, however, and it was white, not the red of fire. It was an unnatural light, and an unnatural light could mean only one thing.

Humanity.

If it weren't for my exhaustion at that point, I would have driven us onward until we reached that seemingly far-off goal. As it was, I could hardly sleep for my anxiety and excitement. It was a strange combination of fear and elation that kept me awake for another hour or so after we settled in our pile. Those same emotions woke me at dawn, when we heard the sounds of machines in the distance.

It took only a few hours to reach the source of the lights and sound. The compound was surrounded by a wall that had to be at least fifty feet high and as thick as three car lengths. Not even a Tank could penetrate those walls, I could see. A Hunter could possibly jump them, if they were able to bypass the sharp barbed wire that lined their tops. Soldiers patrolled along them, too, with sentries posted at various intervals. This was one of humanity's last bastions; there weren't going to be any Infected breaking through.

I knew when I saw it that there wasn't going to be any welcome for my pack. I couldn't bring them with me. I needed to leave them behind.

It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

I gave the twins the "stay" command, and started down, thinking that Blake and Caroline would follow suit. The twins did, and Caroline made to, but Blake continued on with me. No matter how many times I told him, he would start after me; he started to look angry after about the third time. He only stayed put when I yelled at him and shoved him.

The hurt and anger in his eyes almost destroyed me. I almost turned away from the compound right then and walked away.

But I couldn't. Not now. Not after so long.

Instead, I turned away and tried not to look back. I could hear the twins start to whine as they sensed Blake's unhappiness as I walked off. Caroline was already sobbing.

I was close to sobbing with her.

It took nearly another hour to reach the compound from where I'd left the pack. The soldiers had spotted me approaching, and knew I had to be human just from the sled I'd been pulling. They were waiting for me at the only gate, on the north side. I was rushed inside, but I didn't get so warm a welcome as I'd been expecting.

I knew why, of course. I had spent months alone among the Infected. There was a very high probability (in their minds, at least) that I was carrying the virus. I believe I was immensely lucky that they didn't shoot me on sight, just judging by the reaction Trevor had.

My sled was taken, confiscated for the compound's supplies. I had no qualms about that; they were welcome to it, since I'd no longer need it. They put me in a cell while they tried to determine whether I was a carrier. I was questioned as to how I managed to survive so long; I told them that my skill with animals allowed me to read their behavior and avoid them. They questioned me about my sled, about my hand, about everything that had happened to me in the intervening months.

I lied. I lied to protect my pack, and to protect myself. I proved myself able to back up those lies, at least; if I couldn't, I would have been in more trouble than merely being a straggling survivor.

After several hours and several tests, I was declared clean and human. I was led to the civilian dormitories, which were, in fact, a hotel converted to the purpose. The rooms were small, and held at least one person to each. They could have held more…but there weren't that many people. That fact alone spoke volumes as to the state of the world, to me.

My escort told me to rest, and recover. I will take the opportunity, gladly, but I wanted to write this. I wanted to record what may well be my last entry to this journal.

I have found civilization, but I have also made the hardest decision in my life. I have left my pack. I left Caroline, I left the twins…and I left my beloved Blake. I'm not certain where they've gone. All I know is that they couldn't stay with me, not here. They'd have been killed, and I couldn't bear that. It was so hard…so painful to leave them behind, but they don't belong here. I do.

…don't I?

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_

* * *

_Author's Notes: Don't worry, folks! This isn't the last chapter; that's the next one. __Yes, you read that right-the next chapter is the end of _From the Desk_! D: But don't worry! I have a sequel in the works with new characters as well as the old, and new adventures! Feel free to add me to your alerts if you want to be notified when it's posted. Until next time!_


	14. FINAL CHAPTER Part 1  Day 73

**6 March 2010**

_21:01_

I suppose…I can continue to use this journal to record what I'm up to here. It's difficult to find anything else to use. Paper seems to be a limited commodity, along with a lot of other things we'd taken for granted before this apocalypse.

The military doesn't precisely run the compound, but its influence is heavy. Breakfast is at 06:00 without fail; lunch at 12:00, and then dinner at 18:00. Every meal is served with military efficiency, and lasts only about an hour. The food is likely military grade—it's certainly drier than what I'd gotten used to. But then, I've been used to fresher food, mostly meat, brought to me by my Hunters…

No. I can't think of them anymore.

After each meal is some activity or another. Mostly, these activities involve maintenance of the compound and its inhabitants, self-defense, exercise and even education. When I can, I take part in the exercise and maintenance roles. I've been taught to sew with or without a machine (power is intermittent here, so we've needed to learn to do without), so I help to make our clothing. I also help to cook; I'm not the best, but at least I'm not the worst, either. I even help with some repairs.

But because of my occupation prior to the outbreak, my most significant contribution is medical. I was outright assigned to the med-bay due to my expertise and my work with CEDA. Partly, my duty is to treat the injured when we take in any, whether new arrival (and there was at least one since I arrived, too), patrolman, or someone who wasn't paying attention around the compound. I can't give medication, but at least I can operate when it's needed.

My primary function in this new society is research. CEDA's previous studies are crucial to this project. But I quickly found, after I was given my assignment, that "this project" is not a cure to the Infection. No, there is no curing this disease, I'm told. Instead, the research is into methods of killing the zombies without needing to get close, or rendering our cities unlivable. There's even a plan for next week to capture one of the Infected to experiment on.

Of course, I'll be in charge of that expedition. Being a veterinarian, and having studied the Infected, I can read their animalistic behavior, making it easier to capture a live, healthy specimen. I'd be in charge of its care, too, outside of the experiments.

If there is a higher power out there…I hope to it that my Pack has gone far, far away. If one of them were to be captured…

No. No more thinking of them. If I think of them, I miss them, and if I miss them…

Just no.

At any rate, I work until well into the night. My only free day is Sunday, primarily because no one is running anything but the meals. I may, however, continue working anyway. My attempts at social interaction have been few and far between, and awkward to boot. I wasn't this bad prior to the Infection, but after being alone for so long, I've found I've lost touch. So, with no one to spend my free time with, I can concentrate on myself and my work.

And the more I work, the less I will think of what—and _who_—I'm missing.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.

* * *

**_

_Author's Notes: Wait, what? Final chapter so short? Garnet turning away from the Pack? This seriously can't be it!_

_Don't worry, folks, it's not. I love writing, and I love writing _for_ you guys, so I decided to separate the final chapter into, well, more than one. So here's part one. Part two ought to be up just as quickly. Enjoy!_


	15. FINAL CHAPTER Part 2  Day 97

**30 March 2010**

_20:35_

The past few weeks have been immensely busy for me. I've hardly had the opportunity to eat, let alone write. I'm rather short on sleep, and tonight has been the first night I'll have the opportunity to catch up…but I will still take the time to record what's been happening.

The plan to capture one of the Infected came through. At 08:00 on the 10th, I lead us out of the compound in the opposite direction from which I'd come. I didn't want to heighten the chances of finding my Pack. We were a team of four, including two soldiers—they were there for protection. Our fourth was a civilian like me, though he wasn't in the medical field. He was good with a rifle, though, and so he was to tranquilize the Infected. We had with us a containment box that would hold the Infected once we caught it.

We didn't have to go very far. After only…forty minutes, I'd say, I was pounced on by a lone Hunter. He was likely starving, or else he wouldn't have taken such a huge risk like attacking four humans. It proved to be his downfall, however; one of the soldiers shoved him off of me before he could even start tearing into me, and my civilian partner shot him with the tranq gun. He immediately collapsed, and before I could get a good look at him, he was shoved into the containment box.

I could study him at my leisure once he was in the compound's laboratory, however. A sealed quarantine had been built for just this reason, and I was one of five who had clearance to enter it. I spent most of my time there after this Hunter's arrival, bathing him (_without_ the fear that had burdened me for so long!) and examining him to make sure he was, indeed, healthy. As I had done with Chris, I searched his clothing for any clues as to his identity prior to his Infection. Of course, I'd found it.

His name was Jeremy. He was only a little older than my twins, and was as large as Chris. But perhaps the most depressing discovery I made was that he was a visitor to the United States; I found his visa in his wallet. He had come from Australia. It made me wonder what might have become of him if he'd only stayed home…

But then again, perhaps this Jeremy wouldn't have been safe after all. It would only take a single plane and a single carrier to bring the Infection across international borders. We cannot know from here, cut off as we are from the outside world, but my suspicion is that humanity has met its match at last…and that overcrowding is no longer an issue.

At any rate, once I determined that he was as healthy and clean as he was going to get, I was given the task of monitoring him. While I worked with him, I found myself treating him like I had my twins—just assuming I was his alpha. I even began training him, rewarding him for obedience and punishing him for disobedience. In other words, I found myself repeating what I'd started back in December.

I was attempting to build another Pack.

At first, I tried to stop. If I found myself in the process of conditioning him, I would immediately quit and do something else. But experiments began the week after we caught him, and after a few days, I realized that I was the constant in his life. I couldn't bring myself to ignore him anymore. So despite the fact that I was once more taming another Hunter, which only served to alienate me further from my coworkers, I began spending all of my time with him, free or not.

Jeremy seemed to appreciate my presence, at least. I wasn't associated with the agony of the experiments administered on him; it was that pain that essentially drove him to attach himself to me. I didn't hurt him. I was safe.

I can't describe those experiments. I'm not privy to them, nor do I want to be. Jeremy screams, and I feel like screaming with him. He sounds like the twins (just slightly lower in pitch than Chris), and so when I hear him, I imagine it's one of them in his place. It's only been nearly two weeks, but I've had enough. I can't stand his cries, or his whimpering when he's released into my care. When I asked (once) for even a little better treatment for him…I'm called a bleeding heart. I am a social outcast here, I realize this now, but that made it worse.

I think…perhaps it's time to make another decision.

_**From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.**_


	16. FINAL CHAPTER Part 3 Day 116

**18 April 2010**

_Mid-afternoon_

This is my last entry in this journal. It has served its purpose, and more. Despite what I had written before, about it being a guide to others…I will keep it with me. It holds memories most dear to me, after all.

Spring has come, for the most part. Most of the snow has melted, and the temperature grows warmer. It's foraging time, too, and the pickings are rich and sweet. I'm far happier than I'd ever been in my life (though I don't doubt that the season may be contributing to that). I'd meant to write this entry sooner, but…well, I've been too caught up in my bliss.

I had made my decision not long after my last entry. The challenge had been squirreling away the clothing, food and other supplies I'd need for Jeremy and myself. That task had taken me weeks, primarily because I refused to take more than my fair share and that I worked as stealthily as I could. I still received a few suspicious looks, but thankfully, no one confronted me about this odd behavior.

I don't know what I could have said if I had been, though. Perhaps that was why I was so diligent about keeping my activity under wraps. If I'd been caught…it would have been all over. At the very least, I would have been removed from treating Jeremy, and then he would have no one. At the worst…

I don't care to think of it.

I was tempted to take more. Jeremy's cries haunted me even in my dreams (although there, it was one of the twins, or even my Patrick in his place). I wanted them to stop, and so I was tempted to steal more in order to take him away that much quicker. But…those I'd be stealing from, my fellow civilians, didn't deserve that. They were just trying to survive, to make a home in a world gone mad. How could I punish them for that?

At any rate, last week, I had finished gathering what I would require, and so I was finally ready to put into motion the next portion of my plan. When I wasn't working with Jeremy, I was preparing a proposal to the administrators here, asking for permission to take him outside of the compound for an experiment. All I would be able to tell them, I determined, was that I was testing the range of a new tranquilizer dart, and I required more space than the compound's laboratory could provide. It was, of course, a lie…mostly.

I wouldn't require an escort, I would assure them. Very little Infected activity had been recorded outside the compound, anyway; capturing Jeremy had been a fluke, I found. And if I _was_ attacked, I could still defend myself, and I could prove to them that I could. I would never tell them that Jeremy was trained to my hand, however…too many questions would be asked.

When I went before them on the 12th, I gave my proposal, and it was accepted—all of it. I cannot say why; certainly they looked incredulous enough while I was presenting it. Perhaps they just wanted to be done with the meeting. But…perhaps they didn't mind letting me go to what was, to them, certain death. I doubt they were that shallow, but…maybe they had been.

Whatever the reason, I was granted permission. On the 14th, I was lent a cart on which to carry my supplies and Jeremy's containment box. My coworkers kept him nude, insisting that because he wasn't human, he shouldn't be wearing human clothing. I compromised by at least giving him a hospital gown; it was hoodless, but at least it was something. (And no, it wasn't a matter of decency; I learned with the twins that a Hunter's clothing helps it to capture the air and thus, scent.) However, with this escape, he'd need clothing, and likely the same sort as the twins did. So I dressed him in an old hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans (along with the same adult diapers I had used for Chris and Lexi). He had to do without tape, though; there wasn't any to spare for him.

When he was settled in the box and my supplies were packed into the cart (they were all in one large bag, which I had stuffed with various extra medical equipment as well as the tranquilizer I was using as a cover), I made my way to the gate. There, my bag was given a cursory glance, and I was waved through. The guards there warned me to return at the appointed time—16:00 sharp—and I smiled and agreed.

I was, of course, lying. When I left that compound, I left, and never looked back.

I turned in the direction from which I'd come to the compound. I had told the administrators that I'd only go a mile out, but after I was just out of sight of the compound, I halted. I released Jeremy, and he sprang into the lowest branches of a nearby tree. He "watched" me as I pulled the box from the cart (it was actually fairly heavy, being steel-reinforced) and shoved it away. Then I continued on, taking the cart with me. Jeremy followed.

I know it's an old cliché, but at that point, I felt as light as a feather. I was _free_, after all; free from the repressive monotony of humanity. Free from humanity's cruelty. I could live as I wished, with whomever I chose. I might have said that that day was the greatest in my life.

And it might have been…if not for three days ago.

Three days ago, I reunited with my Pack.

I had woken not long after dawn in the tent I'd stolen from the compound. It's a small tent, just large enough for me and perhaps one other, but at least it's shelter, and quick and easy to set up and take down. Jeremy had been curled next to me most of the night, keeping me warm, but he woke when I did. I saw to his needs first, before attending to my own and preparing breakfast.

As I was cooking, however, Jeremy started growing agitated. He seemed to calm a little after he was fed, but wouldn't entirely settle. He was continually sniffing the air, and his claws wouldn't stop flexing. He was leaving furrows in the recently thawed soil, digging even past the loam of the forest we'd found ourselves in. I wasn't sure what he could be nervous about; there was no way for the humans in the compound to find us, not after this long. I was sure of that.

We continued on at around mid-morning. Jeremy's agitation continued to grow, and I was beginning to get a little nervous myself. Most likely, he was smelling other Infected, and strangers to boot—but I had no way of telling whether the Infected were strangers to me, too. Jeremy was decent protection, but against anything larger than, say, a Smoker, he would have trouble.

When we stopped for lunch, Jeremy let out a warning screech. I paused, and started reaching for my pistol (which I'd never lost; we had been allowed to keep weapons at the compound, just in case). But then I reconsidered; there was some hope inside me still that my Pack hadn't truly left, even after all this time. Instead of reaching for my pistol, I brought my fingers to my lips and whistled—calling off the chase and calling to me those I commanded.

I waited. After a few minutes, I whistled again. I repeated this every five minutes, even while I began to make a cold lunch for myself and Jeremy. My new Hunter wouldn't settle even to feed; he would take a bite or two, and then start pacing in a circle, only to repeat the process. I wasn't sure why he wasn't outright attacking whatever it was that was approaching—other than whatever was coming was bigger than he alone could handle.

But before I could finish eating, I heard the second most wonderful sound I could have ever wanted to hear.

Lexi's answering challenge.

I can't describe to you my emotions at that point. Elation, relief, sheer _joy_ at hearing her voice just rushed through me, all at once. I leapt up and whistled again. Lexi shrieked again in reply, echoed by Chris. Their cries were like music to my ears, and I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

The twins both appeared at the edge of the clearing Jeremy and I had stopped in, roaring loudly. Even I could hear the joy in their voices. Lexi leapt, pouncing onto me and pinning me beneath her weight. Her tongue started bathing over my face, and she was whimpering and growling with delight. I'm sure that if she'd had a tail, it would have been wagging non-stop. Chris wasn't very long after her, pushing her aside to make her give him room; he gave me the same treatment as his sister. I held both of my arms around them, laughing and crying at the same time.

A third voice rose up over the twins' happy cries; it was a scream, but not one of fear or anger. I sat up—forcing the twins to give me a little room—just in time to see Caroline rushing toward me with her claws outstretched. She tackled me back to the ground, holding me _very_ tightly as she started to sob. Yet for once, she wasn't crying in sorrow; her tears, I saw, were joyful. I freed one of my arms to wrap around her, hugging her close and giving her a gentle kiss atop her head.

But after a few more moments of that, I heard the most wonderful sound I could have heard that day.

Blake's wheezing call.

The Sommers immediately let me up when my mate appeared. I stood, and could only stare for several moments. It was almost as though my brain was having trouble accepting that my beloved was standing before me. But then he shot out his tongue, wrapping it around my body—though leaving my arms free—and pulled me toward him, freeing me from my paralysis. As soon as I was close enough, I actually jumped toward him, flinging my arms around him and holding onto him as tightly as I could.

I felt his arms drape around me, felt his tongue withdraw enough to brush the tip of it against my lips. I leaned up to kiss him full on his mouth as best as I could manage around that appendage of his, as I had done almost two months before. He must have just eaten; he tasted of blood. But I didn't care.

I kissed him for a good minute before I had to pull back for breath. Blake refused to release me from his grip, however, and I wasn't entirely willing to part from him either. I did, however, turn around so that my back was pressed against his front, and my head was resting on his left shoulder. Caroline joined us again, still crying, but between her sobs, she was babbling happily—and this time I'm sure I caught "Mama" and "Papa."

A hissing growl caught my attention and I looked up in time to see Lexi pounce Jeremy. They started wrestling and even fighting—yet while it wasn't quite play, it wasn't entirely hostile, either. She turned out to be the victor, pinning him flat on his back. Once there, she leaned down to breathe in his scent, and even to bite him gently on the shoulder. I could only smirk as she growled when he tried to return the gesture. They stayed like that for another few minutes, before she bit down briefly and released him, climbing off of him.

Jeremy was accepted.

We're making our way to the south and west. We have no destination. We eat when we're hungry, we rest when we're tired. Our only concern is to avoid humanity. Caroline and I forage, the Hunters hunt, and Patrick is ever my protector and enforcer.

We live, and we love. We are pack.

We are the Home Sector Pack.

_**From the Desk of**_—_*Here, there is a dark area, as though scribbled out. Beneath it is written…*_

_**Garnet Blake, Matriarch of the Home Sector Pack**_

_**

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**_

_Author's Notes: And there you have it: The end of _From the Desk!_ I'm grateful that you all have stuck with me throughout the whole thing; I swear I couldn't have done it without you fine people. Your encouragement was what kept me going even while I was faltering. (I know, I know, that sounds so sappy, but it's true!)  
_

_Many of you have said that there's so much more I could do with this_—_and you're right! I mentioned a sequel back in Chapter 13; well, that's coming along swimmingly. :D It will, in fact, be set some time in the future_—_though don't worry, all the familiar faces from this fic will reappear in that one. I'm considering putting it in the same format as this one had been_—_what with it being a sequel and all!_—_but from the PoV from another character than Garnet.  
_

_However! Before I really start work on that sequel, I'd like to concentrate on _Hunter Red_ and _Eredar's Redemption_. Once I get further along in those two you'll see it pop up. Keep an eye out for it!_

_Until next time, folks!  
_


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